


And The Quest

by FindingFeathersSeanchaidh



Series: The Heart of Magic Trilogy [2]
Category: The Librarians (TV 2014)
Genre: F/M, Fantasy Adventure, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-18
Updated: 2018-09-02
Packaged: 2019-06-29 03:51:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 54
Words: 125,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15721413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FindingFeathersSeanchaidh/pseuds/FindingFeathersSeanchaidh
Summary: The Library is back, Dulaque and his minions are gone - Baird says for good, the LiTs are Librarians, and Stone and Cassandra seem to have resolved their difficulties. There's even a wedding on the horizon! Everyone seems happy, life is good, missions are at least reasonably straightforward. After 2 months adjusting to the new status quo, our heroes find themselves tested in new ways. Will they be ready to face their new challenges? And will it break them apart, or bind them closer together?(While you probably can read this alone and make perfect sense of it, you're most likely better off reading Heart of Magic first. See link below.)





	1. For the Thief's Chalice, chapter 1

Ezekiel Jones, world class thief, sat curled into the space between the top of the bookcase and the ceiling. Nobody even bothered looking for him these days, although Jenkins always seemed to know exactly where to find him if he was needed, or even just gone for too long. The old man seemed to know when to leave him alone, and when to break through his silence, too. He knew it would take a bit of time, a bit of adjustment, to their new roles in the Library. He didn't begrudge the others their time alone either. He liked his time alone, or with whatever birds he managed to chat up in the whole world of bars and clubs the back door now gave him access to. But there was something there that he hadn't had before, and he missed it. Real friendship. Stability. A sense of family. But that family had split up, gone its own way. At least it felt like that. Flynn and Eve had been the first to pair up and start disappearing on mission after mission. Now Stone and Cassandra had vanished off to some place in the Himalayas. Not the first time they'd left him behind either. He was happy for them. He didn't want to feel like a third wheel. He didn't really want to feel like the forgotten baby brother of the group, left at home while everyone else has a date for the prom.

It wouldn't be so bad, of course, if he weren't so bored. Stealing ordinary treasures was almost too easy now, and he had more than he could ever want, use or need already. Stealing magical treasures was more interesting, but not by much right now. Every job, every mission that his clippings book had sent him on was simple, straightforward and ridiculously easy. He had brought back at least twice as many items single-handed in the past month than either couple had managed to obtain. Maybe the Library was taking sides again. Maybe it was deliberately giving the tough, interesting jobs to the partners who seemed to think every mission was a date. Maybe it was giving him the easy jobs because he didn't have anyone to watch his back, or to make up for the fact it knew they would take twice as long over their jobs just through canoodling and stopping to admire the view. Maybe he was just more efficient right now. He was certainly more bored. A door slammed below him and the office filled with Cassandra's melodious giggling. He smiled. It was good to hear her laugh. Things had been so dark for her, it was always good to hear her laugh. He considered climbing down. Considered announcing his presence with a pithy comment designed to wind up Stone. And to make Cassandra laugh, even just a little. He had even begun unfurling from his hiding spot when he heard the doors swing shut, and the laughter disappear down the corridor.

"You could always try being visible when they get back," said a voice below him.

Ezekiel looked down to find Jenkins calmly replacing a book on a shelf. "They don't need me getting in the way," the thief half-laughed, waving his hand dismissively.

"Don't bet on it," replied Jenkins, thumbing through the books on the shelf. "They miss you just as much as you miss them." The old caretaker pondered that for a moment. "Well, perhaps not Mr Stone," he added.

"I just, I need something to do," complained Ezekiel, dropping lightly to the floor beside the old man. "And I don't mean more research, before you make that suggestion!"

"It never has been your strongest point," smiled Jenkins. He waved a book at Jones. "You've not been idle, though. If anything, you've been even busier than everyone else. Surely it's a vacation you need? Weren't you always talking of taking one?"

"I've been busy," the thief admitted, "but all the missions I've done lately have been even easier than a vacation. They've involved hardly any brain power at all. A local cop could have brought those items back, the jobs were so simple!"

"So it's a challenge you need?" Jenkins raised an eyebrow and tapped him on the shoulder with the book. "I think I may know just the thing."

"What?" Jones frowned at the book still waving about in front of him. "What is that?"

"This," began Jenkins, entering full lecture mode, "is a translation of one of the most epic stories of Scandinavian history. The original poem that this translation was taken from was written in England, but it tells the tale of a Danish hero..."

"What, like Hamlet?" Jones' eyebrows raised. That was a depressing story.

"That is a play written by the greatest playwright who ever lived, during the early seventeenth century in mediaeval English. This is an epic poem written in Anglo-Saxon England, around the eleventh century, in Old English!"

"Okay!" Jones raised his hands. "So I was six hundred years or so out! So sue me! Anyway: what's so special about it? Finally found a book older than you are?"

"It..." Jenkins started, then glared through narrowed eyes at the young thief as the age joke hit home. "It's the story of Beowulf. He was a Danish hero from the sixth century who killed a few monsters and became king of part of what is now southern Sweden. I suggest you take the time to read it, fully!"

"Pop quiz at the end?" Jones quipped, taking the book now pressed to his chest.

"Missing treasure," replied Jenkins curtly. "Read it through, then ask yourself what happened to the chalice - the cup the slave stole - not to mention the rest of the dragon's hoard."

"Dragon?" Jones' eyebrows were now heading for his hairline. "I've dealt with dragons. Dragons do not like me!"

"The dragon is dead. Spoiler alert: Beowulf kills it," snapped Jenkins. "You said you wanted a challenge. Here one is, just waiting for you. A dragon's lost treasure, with no dragon to guard it!"

"Won't it have been found, already?" Jones asked. "You know: archaeologists and metal detector fiends?"

"I point and laugh at archaeologists," said Jenkins, regaining some of his better, if not good, humour. "No, it's never been found. At least the chalice hasn't. There have been a few likely candidates for the rest of the hoard, but not that."

"What's so special about the chalice?"

"Its power, of course," replied the old man, as if the answer was as obvious as the colour of the grass or sky. "That's why the thief stole it in the first place. Legend has it that the chalice acts as an amplifier. Drink even the slightest dose of a lethal poison from it and you're dead. Drink a drop of the weakest healing potion and all your ills are cured. Well, those ills that the potion targets, anyway, or I would have sent someone out after it much earlier. I strongly suggest avoiding alcohol, also: it is a poison, after all!"

"So why are you sending me after it now?" Jones frowned. "It hasn't come up in the clippings book."

"No, this is one I've had on a back burner for a while," nodded Jenkins. "I've been researching it myself for years. Thought I'd found it once too, but that poor girl was just very good with poisons, at least after the first attempt."

Ezekiel looked sideways at him. "What poor girl?"

"Lucrezia Borgia. Used by her family, abused by her husbands, surrounded by death and destruction all in the name of power. Is it any wonder she took matters into her own hands to remove the more stubborn of her woes."

"You know, I've never really thought about it like that..."

"Well, history is written by the victors, and the archaeologists," sighed Jenkins. "We simple witnesses do not get many opportunities to let our words echo through the ages."

Ezekiel opened his mouth to say something, then changed his mind with a shake of his head. Some things he didn't want to know. He turned the book over in his hands. "So this chalice: you think you've got a lead?"

"Hmm," Jenkins waggled his head from side to side. "Not so much a lead as a lack of leads, you might say."

"You've got nothing?" Jones' eyebrows rose. "You've been after this for what? Nearly six hundred years? At least! And you've got nothing!" 

"An expert summation, yes," nodded the old man.

"How exactly does that help me find it?"

"Well, as you say," shrugged Jenkins, with a turn of his hand, "in... over six centuries of searching I have found nothing. I have chased down, and yes I do mean chased, every lead I could find. I have followed every rumour, every legend, every whisper. I have looked in every possible museum, university and gallery. In every private collection I could gain easy access to, and every other one I couldn't. I've searched the length and breadth of every continent for this thing, and still I have found nothing. That tells me one thing."

"It doesn't exist?"

"No, I know it exists," he sighed. "I saw it once, long ago, with my own eyes. But then I was on a quest for an entirely different chalice. However, it was because of that one sighting that I was convinced the thief's chalice had been taken from the hoard and hidden elsewhere. Now I am not."

"I don't follow."

"I shall endeavour to contain my surprise and shock," murmured the old man. "Let me put it this way, Mr Jones: if one finds an odd sock in the wash, and no amount of searching the washing machine delivers up the missing partner, what conclusion must we draw?"

Jones frowned, then his brow cleared. "That the sock was never in the wash," he said. "It never left the laundry basket. You think the chalice is still with the hoard!"

"It is my belief that the chalice is in one of three places," he replied. "First, and most likely, it is with the hoard in the dragon's lair. Dragons do not keep all their wealth in one place - there is simply too much of it - so it is conceivable that part of the hoard may be found but not all of it. Second, there is the possibility that the chalice was buried in the tumulus with Beowulf's remains. Third, and by far the most problematic possibility, the chalice lies with the thief who originally took it."

"Why is that the most problematic?" Jones asked.

"Well, I know where the other two are," said Jenkins, waving a hand in the direction of the stairs. "I suggest you start with the tumulus."


	2. For the Thief's Chalice, chapter 2

Ezekiel looked down at the maps ancient and modern that lay scattered across Jenkins' desk. In the centre was a hand-drawn version that accumulated the information of all the others. Several areas in northern Denmark and the areas of southern Sweden, just across the water from them, had been highlighted. The town of Uppsala had been circled and an arrow pointed to a spot marked Gamla Uppsala.

"I know it is quite far from Götaland," said Jenkins, waving an hand at the general area on the map, "the area the Geats would have inhabited. Gamla Uppsala is technically in what would have been the territory of the Swedes at that time, but please do remember that Beowulf had travelled to fight a dragon, and had died because of that fight. His men would have burned his body there: travelling then was neither as fast nor as easy as it is today. The poem tells us that they used the treasures from the dragon's cave to place on the king's funeral pyre. He would have been burned with them, then a tumulus raised around the remains. Cobblestones, gravel then earth. Most of the items would have melted in the heat of the pyre, but not the chalice. It's power would protect it. I think the tumulus is the first place we should try. If it isn't there, then we can try the dragon's cave."

"And this tumulus is in Gamla Uppsala?" Jones asked, scanning the map.

"Yes."

"Okay, how do I get in?" Jones looked up. "Is there a door or something?"

"Two of the barrows have been excavated," Jenkins replied. "The third, and most likely, has not. Nothing of great interest to ourselves was found in either tumulus during excavation, that only leaves us with the unexcavated one: the middle one."

"So, how do I get in?" Jones repeated.

"Well, as it happens," sighed Jenkins, turning away from the young man, "I do have some specialist equipment that might help." He turned back to Jones holding a shovel. "I trust you can fake your own credentials?"

"There is no way they'll buy a single archaeologist doing a dig all by themselves!" Jones complained.

"So?" Jenkins shrugged. "You're a thief, aren't you? Go steal an archaeology team."

XXXX

The age of the dilettante archaeologist had passed by long ago, but Jones found that some carefully redirected funds, a fake aristocrat with a personal interest and the persona of a youthful personal secretary to oversee the work suited his purpose well. He hacked the government files in Sweden to obtain a permit, engaged the services of a notable professor interested in the particular area of history they would be excavating and supplied funds for a full, if streamlined, dig team. The team found themselves at the dig site within two days, postgraduate students setting up markers and geophysicists moving steadily over the tumulus with ground penetrating radar. From his chair in the tech tent, the translation of Beowulf open in his lap, Ezekiel Jones surveyed the results of his genius.

Having procured experts to do the hard work for him, he had found himself left with three tasks: research, which included reading the entire poem; exploring the area around the site of the tumulus for clues, and the area Jenkins had identified as the site of the dragon's lair; and trying to find out what had happened to the thief and where he might have been buried. He had been working through the book all morning. He was getting bored. Time for a change.

Closing the book and placing it carefully in his satchel - not Flynn's satchel, but one Jenkins had provided for him for the mission - Jones got up and headed over to the professor in charge of the dig. He was a short, balding man who showed signs of having spent too long sitting at a desk or standing over a dig giving out orders. He peered over his small round glasses at the young man approaching him, dragging his attention away from the readout on the geophysics monitor.

"Ah, Mr Smith! Come have a look at the GPR findings! There's definitely a grave down there, and much more besides, by the look of it!"

Ezekiel smiled brightly at the professor's innocent use of his alias. He had crossed paths with the archaeological world before and there was no way he was going to use his own name here. "That sounds promising, Professor Wilkins," he enthused, glancing over at the screen but making neither head nor tail of what it showed. "I'm afraid you'll have to forgive my ignorance. Archaeology is my employer's hobby, not mine. I thought I might go for a wander. See a bit of the countryside. Only assuming you have everything you need here, of course. You have everything under control, don't you?"

"Everything is up and running, ship shape and Bristol fashion, Mr Smith," replied the professor with a wave of his hand. "I know how you young people like to explore. Go do some sightseeing. We're fine here. We won't be budging until the light goes. I'll call you if anything crops up."

With a slight bow of thanks to Wilkins, Jones turned and made his way out of the tent. The car he had hired was parked on the road nearby. He would need it to reach the site of the dragon's lair. Throwing his satchel into the passenger seat, he turned the key and pulled away from the side of the road. An almost instantaneous buzzing brought him to a halt. He pulled out his smart phone and hit answer.

"Jenkins, what is it?" Jones asked with a sigh. "The dig is set up and I'm heading off to the lair now."

"Not what I was calling for," said the voice on the other end of the line, "but thank you for the update. Actually I was calling with a request. Can you look for any signs of a grave near the dragon's lair. It will be millennia old, if it is there at all, so it will be difficult to spot."

"You're thinking the thief was buried at the lair?"

"Yes," the verbal nod was emphatic. "The thief caused the trouble with the dragon to begin with. I remember stories, when I was young, of murderers being forced to carry their victims to the king, or queen, for judgement. Punishment was harsh in those days. It's possible a similar punishment was forced on the thief: buried with the remainder of the hoard he had tried to steal."

"I see," said Ezekiel, pulling a face. "They wouldn't have been buried alive, would they?"

"Hmm," the equivocation in the old man's voice brought the image of him bobbing his head back and forth into Ezekiel's mind. "I suppose it depends on how much damage the dragon did. Technically, the thief, by enraging the dragon and forcing Beowulf to engage it in battle, would be seen as being responsible for the death of the king, and a beloved, heroic king at that. I don't really see that king's army as being particularly forgiving for that crime. He may well have been buried alive. Forced to feel the full terror of his predicament, and to endure an agonising, slow death. All the while knowing that there was no way his spirit would now be able to enter the halls of Valhalla, or the meadow of Folkvangr."

"Folk what now?"

"Folkvangr: the meadow ruled over by Freyja, where half the heroes who die in battle go to be trained for the final battle of Ragnarok. The other half go to Valhalla, the hall ruled over by Odin, for the same purpose."

"Alrighty then," Jones pulled a face of dubious incomprehension. "I'll do my best. I might have picked up one or two gadgets from the dig site that would help."

"Picked up?"

"It's a reflex!"

"Hmm."

The line went dead and Ezekiel tucked the phone away again. It would take him at least an hour to get to the site of the dragon's lair, near a lake south of Uppsala, and east of Stockholm. He put the car in gear and drove off again, this time with considerably more on his mind. There were many things he could complain about on this mission: the food, the bed, the temperature, the weather. Somehow, he didn't think that 'being too easy' was going to be among them.

XXXX

Jenkins put the phone down and tapped his chin thoughtfully. He should be out there, he thought. This was his white whale, not the boy's. But he wasn't as fast or as agile as he used to be, and the world had moved on without him. He was of more use following up any new information that Jones managed to unearth and providing advice and possibly magical gadgets from a distance. With one's own personal wormhole at one's beck and call, at least it would be easy to get there quickly if necessary.

The back door clattered to admit it's other users in a dusty heap.

"How goes the search?" Jenkins asked from his desk.

"It's so nice to be able to actually use all this stuff to make a difference," gasped Cassandra between deep breaths of clean, dust-free air.

"Hey, we make a difference every time we go out there," Flynn chided.

"You know what I mean," she sighed. "A more immediately obvious difference. We were there only a few days before..."

"I just wish we could have got up that mountain," Flynn conceded.

"I kept trying," said Jenkins. "There were no doors left to use. You helped where you could, just as every decent human being tries to, even if only in prayer."

"We saved lives today," nodded Baird.

"Not enough," grumbled Stone.

"We were never going to be able to save everyone," said Jenkins, handing out bottles of water to each of the group. "Earthquakes are called natural disasters for a reason. They are also called tragedies for a reason. You did the best you could. Better than most."

"We just had a few advantages most people don't," Flynn waved a hand at Jenkins, then turned to Stone, "and we used them to the best of our ability. It's not your fault..."

"Do not finish that sentence," Stone growled. In the resulting silence, he turned and stalked off out of the room.

"I take it he lost someone?" Jenkins asked, looking back to the sobered group.

"Internal injuries," Baird replied gravely. "They were dead before Stone ever got to them. The only thing keeping them alive was the beam across them pinning them down."

"And he blames himself for moving it," Jenkins finished with a nod of comprehension.

"Didn't matter how many people he helped save after that, it was never going to be enough," Baird grimaced. "So many were gone before we got to them too. So many. We're only back because it was the only way to stop him working himself into an early grave. We'll head back out first thing tomorrow morning, their time. Right now, we need food, water, sleep and very definitely showers!"

Jenkins watched them go, heading for the living quarters the library had provided for them, where they could keep their body clocks in the right time zone for the task in hand. He turned back to his work. Little was known about the thief who originally stole the chalice. When he had seen it, it had been in the possession of the rich man he had originally assumed paid the thief to take it. Or at least, to take it back. They had been a slave, so some sources said. He was trying to expand on that. He picked up a leather-bound journal and carried it over to a chair. Maybe he was getting old. He was certainly much wearier than he had ever been before.


	3. For the Thief's Chalice, chapter 3

Ezekiel Jones looked out at the lake. Its placid waters stretched out, sparkling in the autumnal sunlight, denying the presence of the Swedish capital not too far off to the east. The water levels had changed in the millenium-and-change since the dragon had built its lair here, and the entrance to the cave was below the water level now. Not that that was a problem of course: SCUBA diving was just one of many strings he had added to his bow growing up. It was amazing what you could find on those underwater dig sites. He was used to diving without a buddy too. No, the thing he hated was the dry suit. It was clumpy. It was cumbersome. It was heavy. It was horrible. Sure, it was his own, and that at least meant it fitted. Learning to dive in cold water he had encountered the curse of the short people yet again, with enough air pooling in the overlong legs of his training suit to make ankle weights a necessary evil if he wanted his feet to sink. Dry suit dives had two, and only two, as far as he was concerned, benefits: first, they meant you could wear your own clothes underneath the suit, as long as you were careful with your wrist and neck seals; second, they meant you didn't freeze to death in water that quite frequently froze itself. He dragged the zip of the neoprene suit shut and picked up his hood. At least being able to afford the best made it slightly easier to move around in.

The descent to the cave entrance was easy enough, although visibility was poor and even torchlight made little difference to how far ahead he could see. He moved slowly, his half-foot fins propelling him forward steadily through the black water. Slight changes in pressure told him when the tunnel dipped or rose, forcing him to carefully adjust his buoyancy. Cave dives were never easy, even when you knew how far you would have to travel before you could come up for air. That was why every cave diver carried not one but two tanks on their back, and a third, smaller, handheld one attached to the front of their buoyancy control jacket for emergencies.

A phosphorescent glow heralded the end of the tunnel. In the slowly improving visibility, Jones swam on faster, reaching the rapidly widening beginnings of a cavern lit by the sickly green light of fungi and micro-organisms. He pushed upwards once, then let his increasing buoyancy bring him carefully to the surface. The cavern was tall and broad. Far more so than the light of his torch would have shown him on its own. There was a ledge off to one side, where centuries of gentle washing had worn away at the rock below it. He swam over to it and hauled himself up. Without the support of the water, the buoyancy jacket with its two tanks attached behind and one in front weighed him down. He made a note in his dive computer and slipped the jacket and his fins off. Exploring would be much easier without them. He hadn't seen any sparkles of gold or precious stones so far, so maybe this part of the lair had already been cleared out by Beowulf's men long ago. He edged along the side wall of the cavern, scrutinising as much as his torch, and the bioluminescent inhabitants, allowed him to. If the route to the inner part of the lair was also underwater, he could use up a whole tank looking for it before he would have to return, but there was no sense doing so if he didn't have to.

He was, he reckoned, two thirds of the way along the side of the cavern before something caught his eye. It was nothing more than a line, a break in the phosphorescence, but it was something. He edged towards it. A thin crack opened in the wall of the cavern. At its widest point it was barely wide enough for him to fit through sideways. At its narrowing base the crack continued downward into the water, the harder rock stratum he had been walking on making an insignificantly small ledge. Jones crawled through, dragging himself along on his side with hands, knees and feet. Slowly, gradually, little by little, the corridor of rock widened. So did the gap beneath him. He looked down, shining the light of his torch on dark water, and swore. Turning his head to shine the torch forwards, he caught a sparkle of something in the gloom. He was on the right track then. He sighed. Sometimes, he really hated being lucky!

Bracing hands and back on one wall, and feet and knees on the other, he moved onwards, unfolding as the chasm widened. He hoped and prayed it wouldn't get too much broader, or else he would have to figure out a way to get proper climbing tools through that narrow gap at the start. He nearly lost his grip when his foot missed the edge of the wall and flailed in mid-air. So he'd reached the edge, he thought, shining the torch ahead into the darkness beyond. Gold and jewels glittered back in answer, beckoning the thief onward. But Ezekiel Jones, world class thief, had played this game before. No mad rush for the prize filled him. No gluttonous glee for the great heap of gold awaiting him addled his brain. Instead, he breathed deeply, turned his head slowly, and took in all that his torch could show him.

The walls above the ledge expanded outward to form a second cavern, the furthest extent of which he could not see. The ledge itself continued on its current trajectory, allowing the chasm below him to continue widening, but not at the same rate as the walls. All around this broadening shelf were piles of gold, silver, and many other metals he could not yet identify. Jewels studded or filled spaces between the metals. Rubies, amber, citrine, emeralds, turquoise, sapphire and amethyst, and a hundred others, gleamed, sparkled and glistened in the darkness like the richest galaxy never found on Earth. The piles came to a stop before the walls closed in onto his position, but not by much. Turning and positioning himself carefully, Jones found enough of a handhold at the edge of the cavern and pushed himself towards the opposite wall. Uncoiling his legs like a spring, he jumped. His grip on the edge of the rock was enough to drag him round, and he let go in time to avoid being dragged back. He landed on the shelf with a thump that made a shimmering rain fall down the edge of the nearest pile of treasure.

As coins and gems rolled and dropped, splashing softly, into the shadowy depths, there came a noise, like an echo, from the dark end of the cavern. Silence crept in again, seeping into the cracks in the walls like blood into fabric. Ezekiel held his position, his noiseless breathing slow and steady. The sound came again. This time it reminded him of the drip of water from stalactites into an underground pool or river, but there were no stalactites here. Whether because of the type of rock, or the lack of water oozing through it, he had not heard any such drips before. And he had been listening for them.

He changed position slightly, edging himself more securely onto the ledge, stepping silently as only a thief can. There was nothing else for it: he would have to move through the cavern one way or another. He swung his head slowly around the cavern, letting the light from his torch illuminate the piles of treasure. The noise came again. A high pitched jingle this time. Coins rolling down a heap of gold. Ezekiel's hand went to the dive knife at his hip. It might not be much use against a dragon, but he couldn't run. He had no easy hand hold to get back into the tunnel. With ears and eyes wide open, he scanned the nearest pile. No obvious sign of the chalice. That didn't mean it wasn't buried underneath. He couldn't afford the attention, though. Not with something else in the cave. Something he still couldn't see. Yet.

The second pile afforded no more than the first. The third followed suit. He reached the fourth. A noise to his left made him turn. Nothing. Whatever had been there was gone. But what way? Was it behind him now? Or before him? Was it even there at all? Was it merely some reaction of the rock to his presence? Was it all in his mind?

Coins scattered. He turned. Again they fell. Again he turned. First this way. Then that way. The noise sounded closer. Behind him. He spun round. His knife flashed out, slicing into the gloom. It hit something.

Something hissed.

Something hit him.

He fell.

Before he reached the ground it was on him, clawing at the dive mask over his eyes. Ragged nails raked his cheek. He stabbed upward. The thing howled in pain and rage. He pushed it off him, his hand still holding the knife. Staggering as he stood, Ezekiel turned the light of his torch on the wounded creature. The sight before him almost knocked him over again. The creature was a woman. She looked only a few years older than him. Her hair was long and matted. Her nails cracked and broken. Her skin and rough woollen tunic were coated in years of grime. Her body was skeletal. Her eyes were glazed. As he watched, the fleshless chest rose and fell for the last time. A grey pallor spread over the corpse. Ezekiel frowned. He stretched out a hand to touch the ashen skin. It disintegrated at his touch, leaving nothing but a pile of dust at his feet. A thought struck him.

Racing through the piles of precious jewels and metals, Jones made his way to the back of the cavern. There, in a corner, was a pile of gold coins spread out like a bed. Carved into the rock wall beside it was an alcove. In the alcove there sat a gold cup, studded with precious gems. Beside it was a vial, carefully stoppered. He tucked the vial into a pocket on one side of his belt, and the cup into a net hanging from the other. They had buried the chalice with the thief. And the thief had known how to use it.

The trickiest part of the journey back was getting back into the tunnel. There, at least, the dragon's hoard was of use. Gold was too soft a metal to rely on for support, but a tall shield fitted well enough across the tiny ledges on either side of the chasm. It didn't hold his weight for long, but it didn't have to: just long enough for him to swing round and up into the tunnel, bracing feet and shoulders on either wall once more.

The sun was dipping as the thief left the lair with his prize. He considered driving back to his accommodation at the dig site. Not that the dig would be needed now, of course. It was paid for, though, and there was no telling what other enchanted objects the dragon had managed to gather, that might turn up in the barrow. He dragged himself out of his dry suit, packed away his gear in the car, and called Jenkins. The nearest door would be at a village nearby. Maybe the lighthouse there would work. The phone answered. He relayed his success and door suggestions, and hung up. It would take time to get a door ready. He was exhausted. He locked the doors, let his head fall back and closed his eyes.

XXXX

"Talk to me," said the voice by the top of stairs.

Jacob Stone turned in his chair and held out an arm, drawing Cassandra close to him. "I will," he murmured.

"But not yet?"

"Not yet."

"You need to sleep," Cassandra told him, folding into his arms and resting her head on his shoulder. "You're exhausted."

"I can't," Stone replied. "I tried."

"I saw Jenkins up and about," she persisted. "Maybe he's got something that'll help."

"I am not taking some magical sleeping draught or something," Jacob grimaced. "I'll probably wake up in a hundred years surrounded by thorn bushes!"

"Hardly," Cassie chided him. "Baird's the princess, remember."

That brought a fleeting smile to his face at least, but it vanished soon enough.

"What?" Cassandra asked.

"I spoke to him, you know."

"When?"

"When we were there before. Just you and me. He gave me directions. Told me I had a beautiful wife."

"Oh?" Cassandra kept her face studiously impassive.

"I told him we weren't married. You know what he said?"

"What?"

"He called me an idiot," Jacob half laughed, his eyes shining with unshed tears.

"It is part of your charm," smiled Cassandra sadly. She kissed his cheek and held him while the weight of the day's losses finally broke through and the tears fell. There would be more losses tomorrow, and the next day, and for many days to come, but with grief came healing and now, at last, that healing could begin.


	4. For the Thief's Chalice, chapter 4

Ezekiel Jones stepped through the door and sighed with relief. It no longer felt weird to think of the Library office as home, and he was certainly glad to be home. He would still have to head back to Sweden and supervise the dig he had set in progress, of course, but for now he was home. He deposited the chalice on the central desk and handed the vial to a patiently waiting figure by the globe.

"What's this?" Jenkins asked, looking down at the plain, stoneware receptacle.

"It was sitting beside the chalice, in the alcove the thief had carved for it," he replied, dropping down into a chair and stretching his legs out before him. He looked up at the old man turning the vial over and over in his hands, completely engrossed in this new curiosity. "I found them not long after the thief herself showed up and I had to stab her and turn her into rapidly disintegrating human dust to avoid being killed myself. A little warning might have been nice."

Jenkins blinked and looked up. "The thief was a woman?"

"Seriously!" Ezekiel's eyebrows rose. "Someone who was supposed to die over a thousand years ago just attacked me in a dark, underground, almost underwater death trap and all you can say is 'she was a woman'?"

"I wasn't there! How was I supposed to know 'she' had a potion with her? I wasn't even sure they'd left her in the cave!"

"And yet it surprises you more that she was a woman," Ezekiel persisted. "I wonder just what Colonel Baird would make of that?"

"Women were different then," Jenkins replied hastily, raising placating hands towards the young man. "They were still intelligent, strong, brave, and all the other adjectives one might choose to apply to them, but they were also limited. A rich woman, a noblewoman, had more freedom sometimes, certainly, but not always. A poor woman, but a free one, probably had the most freedom. An enslaved woman? No, they didn't have much freedom at all. There are only two reasons her master would have sent that woman to retrieve the chalice. Either he had no other option, or she had some ability that made her the best choice. This vial would suggest the latter."

"What is it?" Ezekiel nodded at the vial but didn't get up.

Jenkins eased the stopper up, its leather thong crackling with age. He sniffed. "I'm not sure," he frowned. "There are many potions that will... that will prolong life. Especially with the chalice to amplify them. This though..." Jenkins held the vial at arms length and glared at it as though it had uttered the most stinging insult. "It doesn't smell of any potion I've come across. All I smell is... is apples."

"Apples?" Ezekiel frowned.

"Yes, apples," the old man nodded, replacing the stopper and sitting the vial on his own desk for further perusal. "It's quite distinct."

"Any particular kind?"

"Not that distinct."

"So what do we know about magic apples, then," sing-songed Jones as if addressing a class of fourteen-year-olds. "Eve had an apple. Was it magical?"

"Not in any way that would help us," winced Jenkins. "The apple of Eden brought knowledge, but also brought death. It wouldn't be of any use in prolonging life." A thoughtful look passed across his face. "The apple of Idunn though..."

"But you just said..." Jones waved a confused hand.

"That was the apple of Eden. E, D, E, N," said Jenkins, waggling a finger at him. "I'm talking about the apple of Idunn, I, D, although originally it would have been the Norse character eth, U, N, N. Norse goddess of spring and rejuvenation. She was given charge of the golden apples that maintained the youth of the Norse gods, both the Aesir and the Vanir. Every god and goddess would collect from her one apple a week, and would eat it to stay young. Once, the god of fire, Loki, aided a giant in the capture of Idunn and her apples, and all the gods aged remarkably, including Loki, so that he was forced to steal her back again. It sounds as if your thieving friend stole more than just the chalice. If this liquid is the juice of Idunn's apples, it makes sense that, once their magic was broken by a fatal blow, the centuries would reclaim their due. I will ensure it is stored away carefully. Certain deities do tend to view the Library as an extension of their own personal vault, therefore it should be safe from retaliation here, so long as we never use it. Am I boring you?"

Ezekiel sat up with a start. "No, sir!"

Jenkins frowned and walked over to the boy. He was still blinking and trying to focus when the old man reached him. Jenkins lifted Ezekiel's chin and looked at him. He turned the thief's head to scrutinise the scratch on his cheek.

"How did you get this?" Jenkins demanded.

"Fight," muttered Ezekiel. "Don't do punchy."

"The thief gave you this scratch?"

"Yep."

"With her nails?"

"Yep."

Jenkins pressed a hand to the boy's forehead. He drew back almost as fast, cursing in a language Ezekiel had never heard before. Cursing in any language is easy enough to recognise, if done with enough enthusiasm, with the possible exception of German. Jenkins was definitely cursing. Ezekiel was vaguely aware of being lifted up, and the world started to blur around him. He passed out.

XXXX

Jenkins laid Ezekiel down on the bed in the first aid room. Magical injuries could produce very physical symptoms, so the room was well stocked, even down to the surgical level. It wasn't something any of them ever wanted to have to do, but if it was needed it was there. Colonel Baird had already had more than one set of sutures to sew, and one bullet to remove.

Jenkins clipped a pulse monitor on Ezekiel's finger and began setting up a saline drip. There was no telling what millennium old virus was currently attacking the boy's modern day immune system. It had had hours to incubate and spread, now it was starting to take its toll. He had seen many pandemics and epidemics in his long life, some that lay dormant for days, others that took over almost immediately, but if this one got out it would be a plague. Nobody had the antibodies to fight it. Not now.

A movement from the bed brought his eyes down from the drip to the recumbent form there. The influx of fluids was already working its way through Ezekiel's system, counteracting at least one effect of the fever. The young man's eyes fluttered and a hand flailed towards the drip line. Jenkins grabbed it.

"No, that stays where it is," he said firmly. "You need that."

"Dun like needles," slurred Ezekiel.

"Everyone's a critic," sighed Jenkins. "Lie still, Mr Jones. Everything is under control."

"Tired."

"I know," murmured the old man. "You caught a bug. You need to give yourself time to fight it. Sleep now, I'll be here when you wake."

"Yessir," came the semiconscious response as sleep overtook him once more.

Jenkins leant over and checked the boy's breathing and heart rate, then grabbed cleaning fluids and hurried back to the main office. The chalice was easiest to clean, the vial only slightly trickier. He locked both away in airtight glass cases in the Library just to be on the safe side. Everything that Ezekiel had touched had to be scrubbed. One fit, healthy young man might survive whatever this was. He certainly had a better chance than four exhausted adults. He checked in on Ezekiel when he was done, returning the cleaning equipment to it's cupboard, then hurried off to his own rooms to shower and change. It was unlikely that he, in his semi-immortal state, would catch anything, but he could still be a carrier. He left the washing machine on its hottest wash and hurried back to his patient.

Ezekiel's temperature had risen, although with blue medical gloves on it was difficult to tell by how much. He took a reading with a digital thermometer and recorded it. He was torn between letting the fever burn itself out, and the virus with it, and trying to bring the boy's temperature down. He had no frame of reference here. He had been in Sweden somewhere around about the time in question, but not for long. There hadn't been any recent pestilence reported to him while he was there. If there had been any after he left, he would never have heard. That was assuming the disease was entirely medical, of course. A millennium in a dragon's lair, hosted by a probably magically empowered thief prolonging her life with the nectar of the gods, literally, drunk from an enchanted chalice could cause any number of magical mutations in an organism as small as a virus. And it only took one.

He heard the doors of the office swing open and walked over to lock the first aid room door. He should have made a sign, or left a note, but he couldn't risk passing on any infection through the paper. He grimaced. He had Ezekiel's cell phone. He could call them on that if need be.

Jenkins looked down at the young Librarian's satchel, sitting in a forlorn heap below the bed. He would have to do something about that. It would be a carrier too, possibly. He wondered about the car and the dive gear that the boy had used to retrieve the chalice and vial. He had been back here before he had shown any symptoms. Did that mean they were in the clear? He searched his memory. Was a virus infectious while the host remained asymptomatic? It could be. He thought of Mary Mallon and all the suffering she had caused. Granted there had been some magical interference there too but...

The handle of the door rattled.

"Jenkins!" Flynn's voice shouted to the Library in general. "Jenkins! The first aid room's locked!"

"I locked it, Mr Carson," Jenkins called though, relieved to see Ezekiel wince at the sudden noise. "The first aid room is out of bounds for the moment."

"Are you in there?" Flynn's voice rose in pitch. "What's going on?"

"What do you need, Librarian?" Jenkins asked. "If it is serious, I suggest a hospital."

"How exactly do we explain a magically invoked chemical burn acquired two minutes ago in Nepal to an ER in America?" Flynn appealed to the locked door.

"Training exercise," returned Jenkins. "I suggest you use the Colonel's NATO credentials again."

"Oh, right," the Librarian had the decency to sound sheepish. "I should have thought of that."

"Give Colonel Baird my best."

"How...?"

"You were right," Jenkins explained. "You should have thought of that."

"Of course."

Hurrying feet began to disappear down the corridor, then halted and returned.

"Why are you in there, Jenkins?" Flynn inquired, curiosity overcoming haste.

"Time enough for that on your return," countered Jenkins smoothly.

"Of course."

The hurrying feet faded.

"'Sthat Flynn?" Ezekiel's voice murmured, breaking the silence.

"He's fine," Jenkins reassured him, lifting the boy's head to let him take a sip of water. "Nothing he can't handle."

"Flynn's awesome," agreed the wavering voice. "Dun tell 'im said so."

"I believe I can safely promise that," quipped Jenkins. "How are you feeling?"

"Cold," came the definite reply. "Really cold."

Jenkins nodded. That much was par for the course. "Anything else?"

"Sore," Ezekiel groaned. "Everywhere's bruised."

"It just feels that way," Jenkins assured him. "Headache?"

"Splitting," he answered, wincing at his own attempt to nod. "Light hurts."

Jenkins got up and switched the main lights off. He returned to his chair in pitch darkness and sat down, flicking the switch on the desk lamp beside him and turning it away from the bed. He looked over to the patient. Ezekiel had drifted back into a dream, his lips forming soundless words and his eyes moving behind his eyelids. Jenkins leant over to take another temperature reading. There would be a lot of explaining to do once Flynn and the others returned, and they would definitely be returning as soon as they had been released from whichever emergency room the door had taken them to. He looked down at the liquid crystal numbers on the thermometer and his frown deepened.

"I sincerely hope we can explain it to him together."


	5. For the Thief's Chalice, chapter 5

When a person spends any length of time in a room with no windows and no link to the outside world, time starts to become blurred. You sit down at your desk in the morning and start typing up a research paper or some notes, then suddenly your stomach complains and you look at your watch to find it's almost eight in the evening and you've entirely missed lunch. Time is an illusion. Lunch time doubly so.

Jenkins was used to skipping meals. Having a magical health care plan that makes you almost immortal gives you the option of making do with nothing but air on your plate. It wasn't pleasant, but he could go days without food if he had to. Weeks even. He hadn't got as far as months yet. As his stomach grumbled and settled down into its long wait, he recalled the last time he had endured such discomfort. That had been the longest occasion, certainly. Being stuck behind enemy lines in the middle of a war zone did tend to make travel arrangements a tad tricky. Of course that was while the back door had been broken. Then he had retired and hadn't bothered trying to fix it. These young people didn't know how easy they had it. These young people.

He looked down at Ezekiel, muttering and twitching in his fever-ridden sleep. These young people who risk life and limb to finish a job you started, he told himself. These young people who drop everything to travel halfway around the globe to help people they had met only once, or never at all. These young people who, in their naive faith in you, put you to shame at every turn. If they only knew. 'Beware the hero' didn't just mean Lancelot.

Jenkins looked at the watch he had laid on the table. It was time to check his temperature again. About an hour before, the patient had come round long enough to be persuaded to take a dose of paracetamol, an antipyretic. His fever should be on the wane now. The old man looked down at the display and sighed. No change. There was little he could do but wait, keep the saline flowing and try to bring the fever down with medicine and cooling pads. Mostly, just wait.

And the waiting was interminable.

Jenkins made a mental note to install a select collection of volumes in a small bookshelf in the first aid room. Something that could sit in the corner, out of the way, with a glass-fronted door that would keep the dust, and blood, out. He leant back and began picking out his desert-island books. The collected works of Aristophanes would be there. Always good to have something humorous in a sickroom. There was a small volume by a Paul Davies that he found quite interesting. A volume or two of M. Verne's stories for something to read aloud if necessary. Perhaps some collected poems for the next time Mr Stone or Miss Cillian required bandaging. Malory was always good for a laugh. Homer was lying around in his lab somewhere. He never had made it through all of that. It was such a circuitous ramble.

He got up and removed the cooling strip from Ezekiel's forehead. It had been there well beyond its time span. He sponged down the boy's face with cold water, watching the droplets shrink and disappear as they dried. He fixed another cooling strip on the heat reddened forehead and sat back. The young Librarian's breathing was harder to spot now, and his body lay still. Jenkins held out a hand, but couldn't feel any air movement. He checked the pulse monitor on the patient's finger. The heartbeat readout worried him. It was far too fast. Should he let him sleep? Or should he try to wake him? If he had a book he would try reading to him, but hindsight was a wonderful thing. There was one book, of course, that he did not need to have in front of him to read. He sat back and took a deep breath. At least, if the others did return mid sentence, he could always say it was a story he grew up with. It wasn't technically a lie.

"Once upon a time, there was a king named Pelles..."

XXXX

The sound of multiple feet warned Jenkins of their approach before they were close enough to hear him. He broke off and waited patiently. Colonel Baird was clearly feeling better as it was her voice that was first to sound through the locked door, accompanied by the loud hammering of her fist on the wood.

"Jenkins, are you still in there?" Baird yelled. "Is Ezekiel with you? What's going on?"

"I assure you Colonel, everything is under control," he called back.

"I didn't ask that," she retorted. Guardians were so much more difficult to distract than Librarians.

"Mr Jones is unwell," Jenkins replied with a sigh. He walked over and leant against the door frame. "He picked up a germ of some kind on his latest mission. He now has a fever. I, having already been exposed to said pathogen, am treating said fever with fluids and antipyretic drugs. Due to the ancient nature of said pathogen, and the speed with which it traversed Mr Jones' immune system, I feel it would be wise to curtail the spread of such a disease."

There was a pause. Through the wooden door, he could hear Cassandra's voice, but not clearly enough to make out her words. He assumed she was translating. He thought he had simplified it clearly enough.

"Did Jones bring home the plague?" Baird shouted back.

"A plague, potentially," Jenkins corrected her. "Not _The_ Plague. His immune system is holding its own. Mine is unaffected. I have everything I need right here. We'll be fine."

"What did he bring home?" Flynn's voice chipped in now.

"The Thief's Chalice of the Ancient Swedes," Jenkins replied as if he were reading a simple shopping list. "And an ancient earthenware vial containing the juice of one of the Golden Apples of Idunn."

"I think I have an allergy to those," called Cassandra.

"Different apples," Jenkins heard Stone mutter. "Idunn was a Norse goddess who..."

"I have locked both of them into air secure containers in the main Library," continued Jenkins as he considered his audience. "Do not open them. Anything you want to know about either item I can tell you here and now, Mr Stone, or later once Mr Jones is back on his feet. The cases stay locked."

"Duly noted," came the disappointed reply.

"Can't we use them to heal Ezekiel?" Cassandra wondered aloud.

"Not without risking infecting whoever touches them," answered Jenkins. "Nor can we use anything else in the Library. No matter what item you used, it would involve opening this door. That is something that I am not prepared to do."

"It's not a perfect seal you know," Flynn informed him.

"I know. But it is the best we have, and the less the air moves about the better. Once Mr Jones is up and about again, we'll clean the surfaces with disinfectant and incinerate the bedclothes. It may be a good idea to incinerate Mr Jones' clothes too, so a clean set by the door would be appreciated."

"I'll see to it," said Baird.

"There is another matter," Jenkins continued, pausing slightly to give them time to roll their eyes should they so choose. "As part of our work in finding the chalice, Mr Jones arranged for an archaeological dig to be set in motion at Gamla Uppsala. He portrayed himself as the secretary of a wealthy amateur who wished to fund the expedition. I had intended to portray the latter should the need arise, but I'm sure the character would be easy to pass off as Mr Carson or Mr Stone."

"Stone can manage that," Flynn breezed, and Jenkins could almost hear the wave of the hand.

"I ain't acting like some gent," Stone countered. "I'm only just starting to get people to believe our cover stories!"

"Keep telling yourself that, sweetie," Jenkins heard Cassandra mutter.

"Oh, I can play the gentleman easily enough," said Flynn before Stone could add anything.

"Then what's the problem?" Baird's voice rose in exasperation.

"I just..." Flynn's voice tailed off and Jenkins pictured The Librarian searching the ceiling for inspiration. "I, er, I can't actually, um, I can't remember how to be an amateur..."

Silence.

"OW! Ow, ow, ow..." Flynn's complaints and protestations died away as the Colonel dragged him back down the corridor toward the office.

"Ear?" Jenkins asked nonchalantly.

"Yep," both remaining Librarians replied.

"Good, good," said Jenkins. "Well, she'll find everything she needs on my desk, under the crystal sphere."

"Paperweight?" Cassandra asked lightly.

"Present from a king," Jenkins informed her.

"We'll let her know," said Stone, and two pairs of footsteps receded.

Jenkins went back over to the peacefully sleeping form. Ezekiel's skin, which had paled to an ashen grey no more than twelve hours ago, then flushed to an unnatural shade of red as the fever rose, had begun to regain some of its usual vitality. Sweat beaded his face. Jenkins breathed out a sigh of relief. The fever had broken. He took the boy's temperature, checked his pulse and breathing, and dabbed the cool, damp sponge over his face once more. Everything was starting to return to normal. He sat down and picked up his story from where he left off.

"Once I met a beautiful lady in Naples. She was the illegitimate daughter of the Pope at that time..."

"You've already told me that one," rasped the voice from the bed.

The words were faint, but they were clear. Jenkins sat up and looked down at the young man, his eyes still closed but his mouth curved up into a faint smile. The old man got up and poured some bottled water into a glass. He took it back to Ezekiel and helped him sit up and sip the water.

"How do you feel?" Jenkins asked gently.

"Like I haven't moved in a month," replied Jones. "And like I've been hit by one of Colonel Baird's punch bags."

"You're temperature has gone down, but it's still above normal," Jenkins told him. "You'll be fine, but you still need to rest."

"It feels like it's dropped through the floor," complained the thief, drawing the covers closer. "You sure it's still up?"

Jenkins reached for the digital thermometer and measured again. He looked at the result, pulled a face, then showed Ezekiel. Ezekiel shrugged.

"Normal is boring," quipped the thief, lying down again and pulling the covers up over him. "Why were you talking about Lucrezia Borgia?"

"I got bored sitting here with nothing to do but mop your fevered brow," sighed Jenkins, "so I started telling you my life story. A pity you were unconscious for most of it: some centuries were quite interesting, I thought."

"Exactly how old are you?" Ezekiel frowned, trying hard to convince his sweating body that he was not freezing cold. His teeth chattered and his guts felt as though someone had made him swallow hot lead. "Come on, dude: I'm dying. Who am I gonna tell?"

"You are not dying, Mr Jones, we've been through that," said Jenkins sternly.

"Fine, then I'm celebrating not dying!"

The old man regarded him silently, his eyes searching the boy's face and figure for something. Whether or not he found it, Ezekiel never knew. He appeared to make up his mind about the thief's first question, at the very least.

"Four hundred and seventy two," Jenkins replied, his eyes never leaving the young man's pale face.

"Nearly five hundred years old, eh?" Ezekiel laughed, but the laugh was a pale shadow of its former self. "And you don't look a day over three hundred!"

"AD."

"What?" Amidst the pain and discomfort, a look of confusion darted out of hiding on Ezekiel's face.

"It's not my age, child," said Jenkins, keeping his voice low and quiet. "It's the year I was born. There or thereabouts, anyway. So many calendar changes it's become hard to keep track."

"But that makes you..." Ezekiel's brow creased in frustration as numbers danced in his head and refused to make sense of themselves.

"One thousand, five hundred and forty three years old."

Ezekiel's eyes went wide. "Woah!"

"Quite."

"And you still got pissed about not hearing mosquito tone!"

"One sees no reason to expect one's faculties to decay when one's body cannot."


	6. For the Pharaoh's Cat, chapter 1

Eve Baird looked up from their desk. The back door swung shut behind him. He was filthy. There was mud in his hair, his clothes, his skin, his nails. Even the ever present satchel had mud on it. It never had mud on it.

"You just had to join in, didn't you," she asked deadpan. "What did you do? Roll in the mud?"

"It was raining earlier," Flynn shrugged. "Rain is not good for archaeological excavations. You never know what gets washed out of where."

"That's your excuse is it?"

"But we're finding out so much here," he enthused, his eyes shining. "Every day, we learn something new!"

"There it is," sighed Eve.

"And I just love learning!" Flynn continued without pausing for breath. "Especially archaeology! It's like opening a door to the past! It's like having your own personal time machine! Ooh!"

Eve caught the sudden turn and the excited look that made him look slightly like a hound that's just scented a fox.

"Nope!" Baird shouted, getting up and hurrying after him. "You are not trying out that darn time machine!"

Flynn spun on his heel and gave her his most charming smile. "Just a little trip? Come with me. The whole of time and space: what do you say?"

"It's just a time machine, darling, no relative dimensions allowed."

"All of time then?" Those big brown eyes did their best to melt her resolve. They failed. This time.

"Been there, done that," she reminded him. "Not doing it again! You don't even know if the thing works: it was built by a writer, for heaven's sake. What do writers know?"

"You write what you know and you know what you write," he shrugged. "Wells did a lot of research."

"No."

"Pwease?"

"No."

"But there's nothing else on..."

Behind her, Eve heard a noise. It was a noise she had come to recognise. It was a noise that confirmed exactly why her betrothed was now staring sheepishly over her shoulder.

"You had to say it, didn't you," she groaned. "Go shower. I'll see what it is."

"How about we both see what it is, then we both shower? I could use a hand getting rid of this mud. It gets everywhere you know..." Eve's hand clamped over his mouth and she pushed him backwards out of the office.

"Go take a shower," she told him sternly. "A cold one."

Colonel Eve Baird, Guardian, walked alone to the clippings book. Jenkins was dividing his time between his lab and the rooms the Library had created for Ezekiel, who was still recovering, surrounded by the home comforts of video games and various people who were willing to wait on him hand and foot, for the moment. She, Jenkins and Cassandra had been taking turns, but Cassandra and Stone were away and she had covered breakfast and lunch. It was Jenkins' turn now.

She looked down at the book. Great: hieroglyphs. The image of a relief carved wall filled one page of the book. The largest image of those on the wall was that of an androgynous figure wearing the full regalia of Egyptian royalty. Facing it was that of a cat. The cat was half the size of the figure. She sighed and made her way over to the card catalogue. Even with the full Library back, it was still the easiest way to find things. She looked up Egypt. It had a drawer to itself. The drawer was divided into sub categories. She flicked through Ecology, Empires, Gods, History, Indigenous Peoples, Legends, Maps, Mythology, and Papyri to Pharaohs. There was a book listing all the Pharaohs of Ancient Egypt. It had several volumes. At least they would be together.

The volumes were large and heavy, and Eve Baird, strong as she was, could only carry three at a time. She was on her third trip down the stairs with the last of the volumes when the office doors opened and a clean and tidy Flynn walked in. He met her at the book and looked down.

"Ah, Hatshepsut," he said immediately. "I wrote a paper on her once. Fascinating woman. You know, even as a girl she helped her father rule the country. Then she was married off to her half brother, who became the next Pharaoh after their father died. Then he died and she had to rule as regent for his son by another wife. She wasn't happy with that, though: she declared herself Pharaoh and ruled for another twenty one years and nine months before dying in strange and mysterious circumstances, now identified as bone cancer."

Eve folded her arms across the pile of nine large and heavy books and glared at him. "You know I love you, Flynn," she said, and he nodded. "Sometimes though, I really hate you!"

"I did say we should look at it together," Flynn called after her as she started carrying the books upstairs again.

XXXX

In the hills of Deir el-Bahri, around the timeworn colonnades of the Sublime of Sublimes, sand blew. It hissed over stones and into darkness. It glowed in the noonday heat. It ate away at history, one grain at a time.

In the rocks of Beni Hassan, the temple rooms resonated like empty bottles held to one's lips and breathed over.

Which was remarkable for one very particular reason.

There wasn't any wind.

XXXX

"I like Egypt," mused Eve, looking out over the green and fertile vista of the Nile valley. "Once you get away from people arguing over governments and religions, it really is quite beautiful."

They had set the back door using a gold cartouche from the tomb of the infamous female pharaoh. It had brought them out at the tomb itself, or at least at the metal gate erected at the entrance to the tomb in which Hatshepsut's tomb had later been found. They had searched the walls for any sign of the relief shown in the clippings book, but to no avail. Just to be sure, they had walked round to KV20, the tomb in which both Hatshepsut and her father Thutmose I were supposed to have been buried. That tomb had been much larger than the later, and more hurriedly constructed, resting place of the royal mummy. Now they stood atop the cliffs at Deir el-Bahri, the magnificent mortuary temple of Hatshepsut stretching out below them. Its perfectly symmetrical walls and central stairway pointed the way to the river, the source of life for all Ancient Egypt. Perhaps more accurately it could be said that it led the way from the river to the temple, and the nearby entrance to the famed Valley of the Kings. From life, through death, to afterlife. Just as the Egyptians themselves believed. Somewhere on the walls of the temple below, an inscription praised the great king, Hatshepsut, for building such a grand memorial. The scribe called it fine, great, pure and lasting. They had been right about that.

Flynn wrapped his arms around her and gazed out over the view, his head resting on her shoulder. "You know, we still need to pick a honeymoon," he said. "We could come here."

"I am not spending my honeymoon fighting mummies," Eve retorted.

"We could take a cruise down the Nile on our own personal dahabeeyah. Book into a hotel in Cairo for a few days. Explore Giza. Travel slowly up river in our own little hideaway. Stop at all the major historical sites," he suggested. "Maybe some of the minor ones too."

"How long have you been planning this?" Eve asked, with dawning comprehension.

"Oh, not long," shrugged Flynn. "Just since the last time we were here."

"That was five months ago!" Eve tried to turn her head to look at him. "That was before you even asked me to marry you!"

"I... I get an idea and my brain just runs with it," he admitted. "I just... You remember the cover story we used then?"

Eve nodded and turned fully to face him. Something in his tone was more serious than usual.

"That was it," said Flynn, meeting her gaze. "That was when I first considered the possibility that a Librarian - that I - could even get married. I had always thought it was just... just out of the question, before. But telling that old man that you were my wife: it just felt... I don't know: so perfect. So real. As though the lie was more honest than the truth. So the first thing I did, when we got back and everything was dealt with, was ask Jenkins if it had ever happened before. If a Librarian had ever married, even raised a family, before."

"And had they?" Eve asked, watching him.

"Judson had," Flynn nodded, looking away. "I should have remembered that. His was the first name Jenkins mentioned. Jules Verne had a wife, but he retired when it became too difficult to keep the truth from her. Concentrated on his writing. Consulted from time to time. He's the only Librarian to have done that. Married someone who didn't know. There were others. Not many, but some."

"Any of them marry their Guardians?" Eve smiled.

"One or two, actually," Flynn grinned back. "We're not the trailblazers we think we are. Just an old story told a new way."

"With a few spoilers for the years ahead," she added, her brows raised.

"That may have convinced me to ask you a little sooner," he admitted. "It's not everyday you meet your teenage son from twenty years in the future. At least we know he'll turn out okay. I dread to think what his Uncle Ezekiel might teach him!"

"He did tell me you taught him that you can know too much about your future," Eve nodded. "Didn't mention what anyone else taught him, other than how to get me back to you."

"I can't wait to meet him in the flesh," Flynn looked wistful. "I never really had a father growing up. I hope I do alright. I can just imagine showing him all the treasures of the Library. Teaching him history and hieroglyphs and all sorts of things."

"Can we finish planning the wedding before start painting the nursery, please?" Eve laughed. "Stop worrying. You'll be a great father. Look how you take care of everyone. You graduated the others, didn't you? And you were there for them when they needed you."

"They're adults," sighed Flynn. "Besides, you did most of that! I don't seem to get on well with kids. They think I'm weird. You know, before I took this job, the other students on my courses all thought I was a freak. I didn't get them. They didn't get me."

"They weren't like you," Eve reassured him, brushing his hair back from his face. "He will be."

He nodded and kissed her. "I love you."

"I know," she smiled. "Now let's go explore this temple. I hope you realise: it's a long way down."

The main building of the mortuary temple of Hatshepsut, the djeser-djeseru, the Holy of Holies, is possibly the most significant advance in architecture of her era, maybe of all pharaonic eras. It is, by far, the most outstandingly beautiful construction on the west bank of the Nile. Pyramids included.

It took considerable time to climb down the steep hills that flanked the temple. Eventually, footsore and weary, Eve and Flynn arrived at the foot of the cliff, and the foot of the temple. They had finished the climb down, now they had to begin the climb up. There were still plenty of tourists around. Even in October, with the shortening days, the temperature at midday was still hot enough to make the cooler evenings popular with sightseers. Flynn had taken Eve's hand to steady her when her foot slipped on a loose stone at the base of the cliff. She was aware, as they ascended the grandiose stairway to the upper levels of the temple, that he had not let go of it yet. Neither had she.

The majestic colonnades loomed before them, their remaining Osirian statues staring blindly East over their heads. For a moment, Eve was lost, engrossed in the spectacular beauty of her surroundings. Then the sheer magnitude of the sanctuary hit her.

"We're never going to get round all of this in one evening," she murmured, half to herself.

"Home or hotel?" Flynn asked, nodding in agreement.

"If we go home, do I have to climb that cliff again?" Eve wondered aloud.

"No," Flynn admitted. "There is an easier route into the valley. It's the one the tours take. I just thought you'd like the view..."

"I loved the view," she assured him, hearing the disappointment in his voice. "I just don't fancy making the climb with the sun going down. Not when I've only done it once and in the opposite direction."

Flynn seemed to accept the good sense of this and nodded. "If we are going to get back home, we need to leave now," he said. "They lock all the gates at sunset."

"Can't you pick the lock?"

"Well I could," Flynn nodded, "but I couldn't lock it up again after us, and stolen antiquities is still a serious problem in this area. Just ask our allegedly retired thief!"

"Hotel then," Eve decided. "I didn't bring an overnight bag."

"I have one for each of us in the satchel," breezed Flynn. "I just figured, you know, since we're together now..."

"I love you."

"I know."


	7. For the Pharaoh's Cat, chapter 2

The hotel was simple, but comfortable enough, and the couple were up at first light, ready to head back out to the temple. They breakfasted in the hotel restaurant and Eve waited in the reception area while Flynn went to retrieve his satchel. She turned when she heard his familiar footsteps and stopped, open-mouthed and eyebrows raised.

"Where did you get the pith helmet?" Eve sighed.

"I picked it up years ago in a market somewhere," said Flynn with a wave of his hand. "You know, I have always wanted an excuse to wear one of these."

"Seriously?" Eve's voice went up a notch.

"What? They were all the rage in Howard Carter's day!"

Eve sighed and shook her head, leading the way out of the hotel to the street, where the latest tour group was gathering. They merged with the crowd and tagged along, reaching the western bank and the great temple itself without incident. They were merely another couple enjoying the sights and sounds of Egypt. Maybe, Eve began thinking, a honeymoon here wouldn't be all that bad at that.

She took the arm her fiancé proffered her, but glared at him when he brought a second pith helmet out of his bag. The big brown eyes pleaded. She rolled her eyes and relented.

"I look ridiculous," she complained as he placed the Victorian era hat on her head.

"You look beautiful, as ever, my love," grinned Flynn.

"Flattery will get you nowhere, Librarian," she growled.

"It's worked so far, Guardian," he sing-songed back. That earned him a dig in the ribs.

They made their way up the steps again, merging with the crowd and enjoying the view. The sheer scale of the temple and its enclaves were magnificent. As they walked, Flynn pointed out the outlines of long diminished smaller buildings, and described the beautiful, lush, green gardens that Hatshepsut had caused to be built and maintained in the two great courtyards at each level.

Eve fanned herself with a brochure she had picked up in the hotel lobby. "Does it ever cool down here?" 

"This is cool," said Flynn. "This is actually cooler than normal for this time of year!"

"It feels just as hot as it was last time we were here," groaned Eve, "and that was even closer to the equator! If we do come here for our honeymoon, let's make it in winter."

"I thought you wanted a spring or summer wedding?" Flynn frowned petulantly.

"I do," Eve assured him, "but that doesn't mean we have to disappear on honeymoon right away, does it?"

"You know, a honeymoon is traditionally the first month of a newly wedded couple's life, where they spend all their time together and get to, er," he hesitated. "Get to really know each other."

Eve raised a sceptical eyebrow at him. "Uh-huh. Well, we've got plenty of time to decide. More importantly, have you picked a Best Man yet?"

"What?"

"Well, I haven't exactly got much family, so I'll be asking Cassandra to be my Maid of Honour. You know the Maid of Honour and the Best Man always dance together at the first dance and get photographed together..."

"I hadn't thought about it," he shrugged.

"Flynn! This is our wedding!" Eve chided.

"Forgive me for being more worried about the marriage!" Flynn returned.

"Why are you worried?" Eve's glare immediately changed tone. "Should I be worried? What is there to worry about?"

"It's a figure of speech!" Flynn threw up his hands. He sighed and turned her to face him, her face cradled in his hands. "I don't care about the bridesmaids and the ushers and the invitations and the traditions. I care about you. At the end of the day, the only thing that I care about, that I really want to happen on that day, is that by the end of it, you're my wife. Stone can turn up in jeans and a cowboy hat, Ezekiel can turn up with some priceless work of art under his arm and blues and twos following, Cassandra can turn up in the weirdest pair of shorts you have ever seen, and I still won't care so long as you turn up and marry me!"

"Okay," Eve squeaked. She took a breath and recovered her composure, but she couldn't stop the smile that warmed her face. "I'm just gonna kiss you now, is that okay?"

"Works for me," he smiled back.

Most visitors to the djeser-djeseru pass a contented few hours there and then move on to the fabled valleys that hold the final resting places of the kings and queens of a bygone world. Not so for Flynn and Eve. They spent the morning scouring the timeworn walls of the temple complex for the key symbols. As the sun reached its zenith, and the temperature soared, they adjourned to the inner part of the temple, carved deep into the living rock itself. Electric lights had long since replaced the smoky candles or paraffin lamps that had once explored the haunting interior of the venerable masterpiece, but some patches of blackened walls could still be seen where the cleaning process was not yet complete. Flynn handed a bottle of water to his fiancée and shone a torch into dark corner.

"I haven't seen anything even remotely similar," said Eve, taking the bottle. "We'll have to stop to eat soon, too. Please tell me you've found something."

"Nothing," Flynn shook his head. "There are still some rooms to try. And, of course, there's the possibility that Hatshepsut was depicted in some other tomb, but I think I would have heard about something like that."

"Where does that leave us?"

"There is one other possibility that springs to mind," he said, drawing out his words in a way that made Eve instantly suspicious.

"You mean there's an obvious possibility that you forgot, don't you," she said, without looking round. 

"Well," he dragged the word out again.

"What is it? Where is it? How do we get there?" Eve sighed.

Flynn took her hand and led her out to the space in the centre of the colonnade of statues. He pointed to the southern reaches of the river. "If we head upriver a bit we should come to another temple that Hatshepsut had built. The temple of Pakhet, or Pasht."

"Who was Pakhet?" Eve asked, shading her eyes against the sun.

"Well, most scholars believe that Pakhet was a fusion of Bastet and Sekhmet," Flynn began, reverting into lecture mode. "She's another lioness headed goddess. However when the three became distinct, Bastet began to take on the more house-cat appearance, Sekhmet retained the lioness and Pakhet was more the wildcat or caracal. She kept the mother-goddess side from Bastet, and replaced the warrior side from Sekhmet with a huntress identity. The Greeks identified her with Artemis, the Greek goddess of the hunt, amongst other things, and therefore renamed the temple Speos Artemidos, the cave of Artemis."

"Anywhere else that I should know about?" Eve turned to watch his expression. He pulled a thoughtful face. It wasn't a face that said 'I'm not sure, let me have a think'. It was a face that said, quite clearly, 'well there is, but I'm not sure you really want to hear it right now'. Her own expression darkened. "What is it?"

"Ah," he vacillated. "Well, it's just a slim possibility, you understand."

"Tell me," she growled.

"Well, Hatshepsut was famous for sending a great expedition to the land of Punt," he explained, "which brought back incense and spices and all sorts of other goodies."

"And where is Punt?" Eve sighed, fearing that she already knew the answer.

"Well, I'm not, er, not entirely sure," Flynn admitted. "Best guess, I'd say somewhere in or around Eritrea."

Eve looked at him, eyes wide. "So we could actually be in entirely the wrong country?"

Flynn nodded. Eve sighed again.

"Okay," she said. "Let's just finish looking here, then we'll go down to this Speos Artemidos, then we'll worry about the mysterious lost land of Punt, if and when we have to."

Flynn visibly relaxed. "I'm sure we won't," he said. "Well, reasonably sure. Seventy percent. Sixty maybe. Half and half at the worst."

"Remind me never to listen to you in a horse race," she quipped, throwing him a look.

"I cannot imagine why for one instant you would," he agreed, instantly, and allowed himself to be led back into the shadowy halls of the temple.

The rest of the temple proved no more fruitful that before. As the sun wore on through the afternoon sky, Flynn and Eve turned their backs on it and headed towards the car park where they had alighted from the tourist bus. Another bus was getting ready to leave, so they joined the group and headed back to the hotel. There were no commercial boats or busses leaving that evening, so Eve suggested they hire a private one. Soon they had acquired the services of a willing skipper and his boat, who knew the area they were heading for. They had collected their sparse possessions from the hotel that morning, having only checked in for the one night. It was the work of a moment to set up a workroom in the small cabin below deck as the little boat pulled out of the harbour and began the journey upstream.

"I don't see what else we can do until we get there," said Flynn.

"I like to be prepared," replied his better half. "Even without the Serpent Brotherhood around, I still like to make sure I'm ready in case they should suddenly pop up out of nowhere and take my husband-to-be captive. Again!"

"I was caught unawares!" Flynn protested.

"My point exactly!" Eve laughed.

"Come upstairs," he said, taking her hand and stepping towards the door. She didn't budge. "Whatever lies in store for us, we'll handle it, like we always do. Come upstairs. Enjoy the view with me."

She relented. "If I get caught off guard, I'm blaming you," she told him, following up the gently rocking steps to the deck.

"If you get caught off guard, I promise you won't have to!"


	8. For the Pharaoh's Cat, chapter 3

Eve looked out at the blue waters of the Nile river. Flynn was by her side. Nobody was chasing them. Ezekiel was back home, well on the road to recovery. Cassandra and Stone were happy and, at least as far as she knew, working together on a job that had provided even less danger than her own one. And Jenkins was always okay. Taciturn, usually. Grumpy, occasionally. But, nevertheless, always okay. And Flynn was by her side. Everything was perfect.

Eve Baird hadn't looked for, or even hoped for, another husband. After the death of her first husband, and following her acceptance into the NATO Counter-Terrorism Unit, she had always assumed that the job would be her life. She was okay with that. It worked for her. It didn't bother her when cousins or friends sent her pictures of their engagement rings or bumps or scans or even their children. She had built her life up around her like armour, and she was content with that. Then she had watched as a mysterious and remarkable man stole an opal that sounded like children's laughter. She had never come across an opal that sounded like anything before, never mind someone who knew how to find one, and disarm a nuclear bomb at the same time. And keep count of bullets. She had been fascinated with him ever since.

She worried sometimes. What if that fascination died away over time? What if, when they did really get to know one another, things went wrong? Sure they had a son in the future, but he hadn't told her anything about the state of their marriage. They didn't have the full picture there. What if it wasn't true love? The selkie had said there were those who thought they had found it, but hadn't. Stone and Cassandra knew, at least, what they had. Eve hadn't dared try out the spell herself. What if it didn't show Flynn?

She leant forward on the railing with a sigh, looking down at the shimmering ripples drifting away from the boat's hull. A gentle touch brushed a stray lock of hair back from her face. She looked round to see Flynn, looking down at her with a worried expression.

"It's nothing," she said, reading the questions in his eyes. "Just wedding jitters, I guess."

"You've been through all this once," he said softly. "I haven't. I'm new at this game. But I'm not nervous. I love you. I know a heck of a lot of stuff, but there is nothing I am more sure of than that one fact. I love you, and I want to spend the rest of my life loving you. I want to raise a family with you, grow old with you, take care of you when you need me to, and when you don't. Maybe I should be more worried about who my Best Man is or what I ought to wear, or who has to sit next to Jenkins at the meal. By the way, who would it be wise to sit Ezekiel next to? He wouldn't 'borrow' anyone's jewellery, would he?"

"Not if I tell him not to firmly enough," Eve smiled.

"You mean threaten him with physical violence, don't you," said Flynn.

She nodded. "Usually works."

"Fair enough," he replied.

"You've decided, haven't you?" Eve asked, turning to face him. "You're going to ask Stone to be your Best Man."

"What gave me away?" Flynn grinned, wrapping an arm around her.

"You mentioned Jenkins and Ezekiel's seats," she shrugged. "You didn't say anything about Stone's. You already know where he'll be sitting."

Flynn nodded at the logic of this statement. "It seemed the best fit. Besides, it's traditional, if the groom reneges on his promise and doesn't show up, that the Best Man marries the bride instead, and I didn't think you'd get on quite so well with the other two. I mean if what you tell me about the alternate timelines is correct..."

He broke off as she swatted at his arm in mock disbelief. "Don't you dare tell him about that!" Eve warned. "None of them need to know what their alternate selves were like, especially not Stone!"

"You never did answer my question about that," Flynn mused mischievously.

"And I don't intend to," replied Eve, turning away from him with a sly smile. "Especially not now."

"Is that a fact?" Flynn smiled back and turned to the railing. His face took on a smug, teasing look. "Well, I guess it can't have been that memorable then. Nothing to worry about."

"You keep telling yourself that, honey," she breezed.

"Not that a bit more practice wouldn't hurt, of course," he grinned, turning his most charming smile on her and holding out an arm.

Rolling her eyes, she condescended to be gathered into a warm embrace. The kiss was certainly one of the most peaceful since their engagement had become known, with the warm sun shining it's last rays down on them and the cool breeze of the river enveloping them in its wake.

"Please tell me I won't ever have to fight alternate dimension Jacob Stone for you," said Flynn when they broke apart. "He was a little scary. I really don't fancy my chances."

"I thought you didn't remember?" Eve pulled back and raised a suspicious eyebrow at him.

"Bits and pieces," he reminded her, pulling a face.

"Hmm," she wasn't convinced. "And you're going to say that every time you let something slip, aren't you?"

"Well, it's not as though I haven't tried to get all the memories back," he breezed. "Its so very vexing to think I was there and yet not."

"You never did tell me what alternate Cassandra said to you when I left you two alone," she reminded him.

"When I remember, I'll be sure and tell you," he assured her.

"That's your 'I have no intention of doing this' voice," said Eve.

"I do not have an 'I have no intention of doing this' voice!" Flynn complained half-heartedly.

Wordlessly, Eve raised her eyebrows.

"Okay, maybe I have an 'I have no intention of doing this' voice," he admitted, "but that wasn't it."

"No?"

"It may have sounded..." Flynn searched for the right word, "similar, but it definitely wasn't it."

"Uh-huh," Eve murmured, unconvinced, and turned to watch the sunset.

The sky glowed in all the iridescent colours of the Egyptian Nile sunset, fading slowly from the deep blue of the darkening heavens to the sandy russet gold of the horizon. As the light faded, the boat engines faded and the anchor was dropped. They would spend the night here, mid-river, though out of the way of the main thoroughfare, and complete the journey to Al Minya tomorrow.

Eve slept fitfully that night. Whether it was the heat, the bed, the water or just everything that had been going on in her mind that day, sleep was determined to elude her for almost half the night. As fatigue overcame her she moved from that half-sleeping, half wakeful state where you are no longer sure if you have woken yet again, or are merely dreaming. She rose from the bed and slipped on her boots. She took care to tie the laces, lest they should come loose and clump across the deck, waking the others on board. She wrapped a blanket round her shoulders, even though the interior of the boat was still warm. Then, carefully, quietly, she crept through the corridors of the small boat.

She reached the deck without incident or encounter and looked out over the starlit river and silvery desert. And it was desert that she saw. The lush green of the riverside fields was gone. The palm trees were gone. Even the scattered farm buildings were gone. She gazed out to a break in the cliffs, where the dry riverbed of a wadi broke through to the low lying land along the river. As she watched, she became aware of movement at the mouth of the wadi. A small, gently padding creature moved sleekly towards her. The movement, more than the shape, suggested something feline, and Eve wondered what big cats were still prevalent in this part of Africa, and how well they could swim. Still the creature walked on, heading directly for the boat and for her.

The land dipped down, perhaps into a drainage ditch or a tributary, or perhaps just behind some rocks that otherwise lifted the landscape. The cat walked on, starlight glinting off its eyes now. It disappeared into the dip. Eve waited, eyes locked on the place where it must surely reappear. No cat walked forth. Still she waited. And waited.

A noise behind her made Eve turn and look up. There, on the roof of the boat, where it overhung the deck, sat the cat. Its overlong, pointed ears twitched as it watched her. Languidly, it lifted an elegant paw and licked it. Eve noticed, when it put the paw down again, that it held it gingerly, unwilling to put its weight on it. It watched her with luminous amber eyes. She stepped forward, against all natural instincts, until she was level with the edge of the roof. The cat watched her every move. When she stopped, it lay down, hanging its front paws over the edge of the roof, at eye level with Eve. She reached up and wrapped gentle fingers around the damaged paw. The cat watched her, but allowed her to turn the paw without complaint. Stuck between the pads was a thorn. She removed it. If it had broken the skin, it had not done so enough to bleed freely, but it must still have been uncomfortable.

When the thorn was gone, the cat sat up. Acting on some unknown instinct, Eve stepped back. The cat stood and, taking its eyes off her for the first time, turned and walked away. It melted away into the silent night, and Eve turned back to look at the desert. Sure enough, pacing back towards the mouth of the wadi, was a cat. When it reached the wadi, the cat paused, glancing back towards the boat and the Guardian. She watched until it vanished from sight, then turned and made her own way back to her room. She walked slowly. She took care to remove her boots quietly. She lay down and closed her eyes.

When she next opened them, it was morning.

XXXX

Eve joined Flynn at the breakfast table, still yawning. He had already finished eating and was replacing his phone on the table as she walked in.

"Jenkins says hi," he said, pouring a cup of coffee for her. "Ezekiel says 'bring me a present'."

"He was in the office?" Eve frowned. "Should he be up and about yet?"

"He was bored and decided he could play games on his phone just as easily with a change of scenery," shrugged Flynn. "Are you okay? You look like you're still asleep."

"Weird dreams," she waved away his concern and picked up the mug. "Coffee will fix. How are Stone and Cassandra?"

"Stop deflecting," said Flynn feeling her forehead. "One illness in the team is enough this month."

"I'm fine," she batted his hand away. "Nothing a good night's sleep won't cure. Stone and Cassandra?"

"They're in Rheims. The case is going well. They expect to be home later today, tomorrow at the very latest."

"Same time zone?" Eve queried. "We should call them."

"Probably not at this hour of the morning," Flynn frowned. "It's still early. Portland is several hours behind us and Jenkins is a night owl."

"Okay, later then," ceded Eve.

"Okay," agreed Flynn. "Once we've finished here."

Eve nodded and helped herself to more coffee and some eggs. "Tell me again who the temple is dedicated to?"

"Pakhet," said Flynn. "Huntress goddess, linked by the Greeks to Artemis. Often depicted as a caracal, or having the head of a caracal."

"A caracal being?"

"An Egyptian wild cat, larger than a domestic cat but smaller than a lioness," rambled Flynn under his beloved's indulgent, and sleep-deprived, gaze. "Also called the Egyptian Lynx because of its long pointed ears, but no close relation. Pakhet was known as the 'Night huntress with sharp eye and pointed claw', probably because the caracal is a nocturnal predator, although that is only one of her many titles. She was also called 'She who has great magic' and 'Goddess of the mouth of the wadi', which is the remains of a dry river, but you probably already know that. Anyway, neither of those titles, nor many of the others, have anything to do with..."

Eve zoned out, her eyes fixed on a spot at the edge of the roof.


	9. For the Pharaoh's Cat, chapter 4

Ezekiel could swear it was colder. It was only a week since he had last visited the dig, before his illness, but he was sure winter had set in completely since then. Professor Wilkins assured him that this was not the case. The weather was actually quite mild for this time of year, and had actually been worse previously. He updated Ezekiel on all their finds, expostulated his theories on the building of the barrow, made tentatively excited conjectures regarding the great age of the relics found within. Everything the young Librarian had expected him to do.

With fake reluctance, and real weariness, Ezekiel excused himself. He had been ill, he explained, truthfully, and was not yet fully recovered. His employer was away on business, technically not a lie as he had not expanded on what that business might entail, and had asked him to check in once he was he was feeling fit. That one was more of an extension of what was assumed. The finds the team had made were of great interest to his employer, completely true, and he was certain that the university would be excellent guardians. He would return in a day or two, depending on his health and his employer's business affairs to discuss matters further.

Ezekiel Jones. Librarian. World Class Thief.

Expert in prevarication.

XXXX

Eve's mind was still tangled up in her dream as she followed Flynn up the slope towards the cliff face. Yawning forth from the bare rock were the shadowy entrances to the temple of Pakhet, known to the Greeks as Speos Artemidos. The four columns had their symmetry spoiled by the apparent presence of a fifth to the left of the entrance, but it was merely the broken down wall of the temple, marking the edge of the room within. Beyond the metal gate, installed long ago to keep thieves and undesirables, but not Librarians, out, were the remains of a further four columns behind the first, hanging down from the weathered ceiling. The floor of the portico was even more difficult to interpret, with the raised foundations of walls threatening ankles everywhere.

Eve stood in the centre of the room, watching Flynn pour over the carefully, lovingly carved and painted reliefs, so brutally and irrevocably damaged by time and invading forces or vandals. There was nothing that caught her eye, but it was difficult to tell. She walked over to the opposite side of the room and started scanning the remaining shapes, looking for the form of a large cat. Nothing fitted the pattern shown in the clippings book. She was beginning to think that a trip to Punt may be inevitable. She reached the doorway to the inner rooms as Flynn did. He pointed to the carved panels on either side of the doorway.

"That there is Horus, if I'm not much mistaken," he said, pointing at the vague remnants of a hawk-headed seated figure on one side of the door. He moved over to the other side. "And this," he said, "is Pakhet. This square panel tells us that someone had damaged the temple previously, and that Hatshepsut had restored it and claimed the favour of the gods in so doing."

"She doesn't look much like a cat," said Eve, looking at the lithe body and legs stretching down from the lioness head.

"It's an early depiction," said Flynn. "You can see she has the lioness head, for a start, but old habits die hard. It calls her a 'resident in the eastern desert' who 'roams the wadis'."

"Does it say anything about traps, secret entrances or large cats?"

"You know, seeing a large cat was considered a sign of good luck by the ancient Egyptians," mused Flynn. "It doesn't mention anything about that here though. It does say something here, though, that might help. Right after something about the colonnades, it says "the hidden place of the house's interior having been made defensive for it with respect to 'bringing away the foot'."

"Hidden place?" Eve's eyes warmed slightly.

"Yep," Flynn nodded. "Now if only we could work out what 'bringing away the foot,' stands for.

"Tripping up?" Eve suggested. "Secret trigger?"

Flynn nodded and pulled a face that told her he was being charitable. Eve sighed and flattened herself out on the mat he handed her, bringing her gaze level with the floor and the exposed foundations. The rock seemed impervious. It had neither been removed nor replaced. Everything appeared in order. She looked over at Flynn, now also down on his belly, looking for cracks in the age-old floor, and smiled.

The work was slow, it bored her, and her joints were starting to ache, but at last, when there was no more floor to peruse, she knew they were getting somewhere. They had ruled out every other possibility, with one or two minor exceptions. The glyphs had to be here. If they were not in the outer chamber, then they must be in the inner one. She pushed herself upright and held out a hand to help Flynn up.

"Inner chamber it is then," she said, as brightly as she could muster.

Together, they walked through the doorway that separated the inner room of the temple from the hustle and bustle of modern-day affairs, like whose camel ate the last summer shrub. Eve felt her body jerked back suddenly and looked back. Flynn, whose fingers were firmly wrapped around her own, had stopped. He was reading something indistinguishable on the wall. He raised a feather-light finger and brushed away the sand.

"This is Horus, he said, almost to himself, reaching up and brushing grit off the hawk head, then the sun disc at the top of Pakhet's forehead. "and this is Pakhet. She's wearing the crown. That associates her with Hathor."

As he spoke, running his fingers over the symbols that spelt the goddesses name, he felt something give way a little. He looked back to what he had been doing, repeating the action without a second thought, and felt something click. He turned to Eve and smiled, a little dubious but arrogant nonetheless. His charming smile was infectious, and Eve returned it with interest.

She took a step towards him and, together, they plunged downwards as the floor opened up and swallowed them.

XXXX

Eve looked up groggily. She wasn't sure she wanted to know what had just seemed to lick her face, or why she could have sworn that a furry tail brushed by her. She did want to know where Flynn was.

"Still alive, Librarian?" Eve called out to the darkness.

A flashlight penetrated the dark. The floor above them showed signs of breakage. Whether or not their entrance had been some kind of reaction to the clicking hieroglyph that Flynn found, or just the incessant wear and tear of time and tide, she didn't know.

"Still alive Guardian," came the reply.

Eve let go of the breath she hadn't realised she was holding. He was alive. He was okay. Weird things had started happening. Maybe it was time to tell him.

"Flynn?"

"Yes, my love?"

"These cats the Egyptians fill their stories with: is it bad or good luck if one of them decides to come to you in a lucid dream, then decides to wake you up from a fall in its temple?"

"Umm," hesitated Flynn. "Are we hypothesising about something that might happen, here, or something that will, or something that already has?"

"Why?" Eve asked.

"No reason, no reason," he assured her. "It's good luck if one of the cat goddesses take notice of you in any way, according to Egyptian tradition. Pakhet is associated with hunters, but she's also associated with motherhood, remember. It wouldn't surprise me one bit if she took a liking to you."

"I'm not a mother yet," she reminded him.

"Not in the biological sense, maybe, but to our three back home..."

"I am just coming to terms with the possibility of being old enough to be Ezekiel's mother," she warned him. "Don't you dare rope in Cassandra and Stone!"

"In a purely metaphorical sense..."

"Go find that carving, Librarian," said Eve, glaring sternly. Maybe the dream could wait a while yet.

In answer, Flynn shone the torch to the wall directly behind her. The untouched carvings here were much easier to read than those above, and the panel showed an exact match to the clippings book. The pharaoh and cat were facing each other, and the pharaoh was pointing. Eve dragged herself to her feet and held out a hand to Flynn. He got up with only one minor trip over a fallen piece of rock and swung the torch around to follow the pharaoh's directions. Eve took it from him.

"My turn," she growled. She shone the torch ahead and led the way. Something glittered in it's distant light.

The cavern they were in was small, merely a vague widening of a tunnel. They followed it in the direction they had been going, until they were directly below the inner chamber of the public temple. The room they stood in now was a true reflection of the one above. An alcove faced them, smoother sides fanning out like opened doors into rough hewn rock on either side, just like the one above might once have been. Unlike the alcove a floor above them, the figure carved on the right outer panel was unmistakably the goddess Pakhet. And just as its upper counterpart might once have done, the alcove contained a statue.

It was the statue of a large gold caracal, its eyes and the tips of its long, pointed ears painted black and its bejewelled collar flashing in the light.

"Is this it?" Eve breathed. "Do we take it back to the Library? Do you even know what it is?"

"Yes. Yes," said Flynn, answering each question in turn. "And I would say it is one of four things. First, and most likely, it is an idol to the goddess Pakhet. Second, and also not entirely improbably, it is a sarcophagus, most likely for a cat. Perhaps one that belonged to our formidable female pharaoh. Third, it is just a statue, although the interference of the Library would suggest not. And fourth, it's something entirely different that I haven't thought of yet."

"Nice base covering there, Librarian," replied Eve, her voice dripping sarcasm.

"Just base-ic logic, Guardian," he smirked back.

Eve stuck her tongue out at him. "Will it fit in that bag of yours?"

"Will the two foot tall gold statue of the ancient Egyptian goddess fit in my magical multidimensional bag?" Flynn deadpanned.

"Point taken," she admitted. "Is it safe to just pick it up?"

Flynn paused and read the hieroglyphs surrounding the figure on the panel beside the alcove. He shrugged. "I can't see any indications why not, but I'd wear gloves anyway, just to be on the safe side."

Eve nodded then pulled on the pair of gloves he handed her. She reached up and lifted the statue down. As it moved in the light, the eyes sparkled, reflecting off Eve's own. She placed it reverently into the bag Flynn held open for her. Her fiancé closed the bag, then opened it and took out rope and a grappling hook.

"Time to go home," he smiled up at her. "Let's go find a door."

They had asked the skipper of the boat they had hired to wait on them, so he was their first port of call. Flynn paid him the money he was due, and told him they would be staying in town for a few days and would make their own way back. After that it was easy enough to find a suitable door, call Jenkins and make the link. The realisation that the day they had almost completed in Egypt was only just beginning in Portland was less welcome, but jet lag of the extreme nature was becoming par for the course for all of them. Eve, under Jenkins' careful direction, carried the statue to a sturdy ornate stand, which she was sure hadn't been there before, and placed it facing the aisle she had just walked up.

"How was your trip?" Jenkins asked, watching her carefully as they walked back to the office.

Eve pulled a face. "Educational," she replied coyly. "How's your patient?"

"Ineducable," grimaced the old man. "But it doesn't seem to bother him."

"And the others?" Eve pressed.

"Paris, safe and sound," nodded Jenkins. "Rheims was another dead end, more or less, but they have a new lead that's taken them back there."

"It sounds like the case has them running round in circles!"

"Amiens, Paris, Rheims, Paris," Jenkins shrugged. "I could never see the appeal of the capital, myself. The provincial towns and villages are much more... welcoming."

"They don't tend to have quite so many museums though, do they," laughed Eve.

"That I will grant you, Colonel Baird," said Jenkins. "That I will grant you."

"And the archaeology team you persuaded Ezekiel to obtain?" Baird's voice took on a more businesslike tone and she looked sharply at the old man.

"They still believe they are working for a wealthy modern-day dilettante, namely Flynn, and his secretary, Ezekiel. He has an alias, though, I believe. He has been back for a fleeting visit," Jenkins admitted, much to Colonel Baird's displeasure. "Just while you were away, but not for long and straight back here. They are making good progress and should have the entirety of the barrow excavated within another week. Cataloguing the finds will take longer, of course, but that can be done in their labs at the university. Professor Wilkins seems a capable man and a renowned scholar in ancient Norse culture and mythology. I am certain the artefacts are all in very capable hands."


	10. For the Book, Chapter 1

The roof spiralled away from Cassandra in dizzying heights. The spider web of graceful arcs met at bold, carved capitols. The silver grey stone shone in dazzling technicolour as the sun projected the patterns of the ancient stained glass windows onto them. As she looked out from the heart of the labyrinth, she heard echoing footsteps approach.

"You're supposed to find your way to centre the long way, not walk right over the pattern and lie down in the middle to look up at the ceiling," said a gentle voice by her side.

She turned her head and smiled up at Jacob. "But the angles, the geometry: it's so perfect!"

"I thought you'd like it," he smiled. "Come on: I want to show you something. It ain't perfect geometry, but it's still worth seeing."

He held out a hand and helped her to her feet. The labyrinth, picked out in mosaic detail of black and pale golden stone, lay in the centre of the nave of the cathedral. It was an area cleared of the chairs that, as the nave approached the crossing and transepts, worshippers could sit in to pray, or attend mass, leaving the famous floor open to visitors old and new. Guiding Cassandra off to the side, and the south aisle, Jacob Stone led the way through scatterings of tourists. They crossed the edge of the south transept into the apse, and the part of the cathedral known as the ambulatory: a walkway around the raised choir in the centre of the apse. Jacob pointed up. High above them soared an iridescent blue window, small figures littering the lower portions, below the majestic figure of the Blessed Virgin herself, holding the Christ child in her arms and seated on a throne.

"It's called the Belle Verrière," said Jacob. "It's remarkable for three reasons. First: it's probably the oldest window in here. It dates way back to the twelfth century, when this place was built. There are only three other twelfth century windows still left and they probably were made after this one. She's the patron of the cathedral: she would take pride of place. Second: these windows are all taller and better glazed than any of their counterparts. The flying buttresses on the outside of the building support the taller walls and, therefore, the taller windows. The glass used was all of the same quality, making it darker in colour, but consistent, richer and easier to see, and cathedral windows then were like the graphic novels of the middle ages. They told the bible stories for those who could not read them. Third: they used so much blue! The pigments used to make blue stained glass, and glass of that shade and quality, were so expensive and rare back then that it was a marvel in itself they could produce something so great, so beautiful, so precious, and so blue!"

"It's also the only one in here with such a large central figure," added Cassie, smiling as she watched the man she loved light up talking about one of his passions. "All the rest I've seen are completely split into individual panels. This is the only one that puts those together to make a larger image."

"It is," he nodded. "Maybe there were more originally, but almost all the windows were lost in a devastating fire. Only those four that I mentioned remain. Here's something you'll like, though: the composition of the main picture is a common one for the time. It shows Mary, seated on a throne facing forwards, and holding the child Jesus. Standard compositions like that had names: guess what this one is."

"Not an area of my expertise," said Cassie, pulling a face and shaking her head. "Tell me."

Jacob laughed and leant over to whisper in her ear. "The Seat of Wisdom."

"Oh, oh! The riddle!" Cassandra clapped, filling the demure silence of the sanctuary with joyful sound.

The riddle had appeared in Cassandra's clippings book not long after their return with Eve and Flynn. Ezekiel was ill, and ensconced in the first aid room with Jenkins, who was sternly refusing to allow them to break quarantine. For an entire day, Cassandra had puzzled over the words half-heartedly, unable to concentrate. Then Ezekiel had been released from his Jenkins-enforced incarceration, and she had been too busy waiting on him hand and foot to pay any attention to her boyfriend, let alone her book. Then Eve had told her to stop worrying and, rested and fed, Jenkins had joined them in drawing up a rota for looking after the invalid. She had gone back to her puzzling in her spare time after that, but to no avail. The words just would not make sense for her. Eventually, she had shown them to Stone and the others. That was when Stone admitted he had received a riddle too. They compared their books and found that the two were actually two halves of one verse, each incomprehensible without the other. They had worked out the locations mentioned, more or less, and had an idea about the item they were on the trail of, but had still been reluctant to go. Flynn had encouraged them, assuring them both that he and Eve would stay until Ezekiel was recovered enough to leave his room, barring any emergencies, and that they would call if there were any change. He might check on the dig occasionally, the Librarian admitted, but with the back door running that was around and about the Library equivalent of working in the garden on your day off.

That had been yesterday. They had picked up their travel bags and headed through the door to Chartres, walking out of a door in an alley that led up to the mediaeval gothic style cathedral, its mismatched spires towering over the city. They had arrived in the early hours of the morning, though, and the only details that could be seen were those shown up by the artistic lighting installed on the towers. They had found a small hotel with rooms available, charmed their way into bed and breakfast, then gone upstairs to formulate a plan and reset their body-clocks. Following an early breakfast, they had headed straight for the cathedral, and become completely lost in its enthralling beauty.

"The riddle said 'below the Seat of Wisdom'," mused Cassandra. "I don't see anything that fits the rest of it though, other than where we are, of course."

"Then you might be interested in our next stop," smiled Stone.

He took her hand and led her out of the cathedral, through the intermittent flocks of tourists to a set of stairs that led down below the apse. They descended together, the sudden warmth of the French autumnal sun disappearing again as they were engulfed by the vaulted tunnels and small chapels of the vast eleventh century Chartres cathedral crypt. They reached the crypt with a couple of random cathedral enthusiasts at their back, a father and daughter by the sound of things. The crypt was one of the largest, and most complex, that they had seen, and they excitedly pointed out to each other all the architectural, and spiritual, highlights as they headed down, past the Librarians, to the small underground chapel where mass was often heard by local parishioners. Once there, in the silent, still sanctuary, the father and daughter headed for another figure sitting quietly before a candlelit enclave, presumably the mother. They stayed in prayerful silence for a short while, then returned to the warmth of the bright sunshine, leaving Cassandra and Stone alone in the crypt. He led her forward to the reliquary.

"The fabric in that reliquary," he told her, "is called the Sancta Camisa. It is said to be the tunic worn by the Blessed Virgin when she gave birth to Jesus Christ. This statue," he led her to another part of the crypt and pointed to the carved figure Our Lady and the Child Jesus, seated on a throne, "is what the window, and another carving in the west façade, were based on. It predates them."

"But there's nothing here," said Cassandra. "It's just bare rock and brickwork."

"Look," said Stone, leading her to another, much less obvious, set of stairs. "They go down, not up. There's another crypt below this one, called the Lubinus crypt. It dates back to before the cathedral was ever built. Right back to the ninth century. It was built as a part of the Carolingian church that replaced the first Christian religious building on this site, which was destroyed by the Danes in the middle of that century."

"And you think it's there that we'll find the answer to our riddle?" Cassandra asked him.

"It is technically below the statue, and the west façade, and the Belle Verrière," he shrugged.

Cassandra couldn't argue with that. She followed him down the steps, these much narrower and darker than before. They led to a shadowy semicircular room lit only by candles. At one end of the room there was a rough wooden carving of a saint, presumably Saint Lubin for whom the crypt was named. To one side was a large book, resting on a wooden table. Beside it lay an inkwell and pen. It was a book into which the names of those to be prayed for to the saint were written. All the most recent names were written in the same hand, presumably that of the priest or deacon responsible for its upkeep. With the careful hands of one used to handling ancient manuscripts or folios, Stone turned back the pages to the date they had worked out from their riddle.

They found another riddle.

"Really?" Cassandra sighed. "The last one took days!"

"It was written by a former Librarian," Stone reminded her.

"Here," she said, shivering in the dead cold of the candle-warmed crypt. "Let me take a photo, then let's get out of here."

They hurried back to the relative warmth of the upper crypt, and then to the veritable furnace of the air outside.

"I might have to go back inside in a minute," commented Cassandra, fanning herself with her cathedral visitor's brochure. "If I didn't know it'll only take a few more for the body to reverse the negative feedback loop dealing with the cold temperatures down in the crypts to one that deals with the warmer temperatures up here. Goose bumps disappear, shivering stops and blood flow increases to the skin," she finished triumphantly.

"Well, when you're finished warming up Doctor Quinn," quipped Jacob, "we really should get somewhere we can sit down and have a look at this thing. Plus, in case you hadn't noticed, it's afternoon already and we haven't eaten since breakfast."

"Which means you're hungry," Cassie rolled her eyes. "Back to the hotel or find a café?"

"Are you kidding?" Jacob raised his eyebrows at her. "We're in France, we're hungry, and we're alone. I'm taking you to a proper restaurant. No arguments!"

With a demure smile, Cassie took his arm and they walked contentedly through the streets of Chartres until they found a restaurant they liked. The staff were only too pleased to find them a secluded seat, where courting couples could whisper sweet nothings to their hearts' content. The fact that it was also suitable for secret Librarians to whisper over mysterious magical conundra was one they did not need to know.

Under his girlfriend's watchful eye, Jacob ordered for them both in perfect French. His accent had improved with more time spent in the country itself. Their wine arrived first, followed by their entrées. When the main courses arrived, and they knew the waiting staff would allow them more time to themselves, Cassandra pulled out her phone and brought up the picture of the riddle. The handwriting took some deciphering, and translation, but eventually they had scribbled down a neat copy in her notebook. Stone looked at it with furrowed brows.

"There can't be any second half to this one," he said. "We've no other clues on how to find it."

"Then this must be leading us to the book," suggested Cassandra.

"Or another clue," Stone reminded her. "The man liked words and puzzles and travel. It wouldn't surprise me if he laid out a whole treasure hunt of clues for us to track down."

Cassandra groaned. "Please don't let them be as difficult as the first one!"

"That took longer because it took us so long to work out we each had a separate half," Stone consoled her. "Hopefully it should be easier now we're on the trail."

Cassandra looked down at her notepad and read out the translation. "Under the gaze of he who made the path straight in the wilderness, my words shall lead you onward."

"It ain't much but I think I got the translation right," shrugged Stone. "It's languages I'm used to having to decipher, not handwriting."

"It looks like there will be another riddle at the end of it too," Cassandra sighed. "Are we going to need a map?"

"You haven't got one in your head?" Stone asked nonchalantly.

"Several," Cassandra replied dryly. "None of which I find easy to share with my partner."

"Point taken."

"Well?" Cassandra raised an eyebrow at her boyfriend, who was still sitting there as if they had all the time in the world.

He looked round at her, sighed, and signalled the waiter. The now empty main course plates were removed. Cassandra leant over to pick up her purse. Jacob stopped her with a hand on her wrist.

"There is no way you're payin' for this meal, darlin'," he said, raising her hand to his lips. "And we ain't leaving before dessert."


	11. For the Book, Chapter 2

Cassandra was still musing over the riddle as they walked back, arm in arm, to their hotel. They collected their bags and checked out, Cassandra still lost in thought, and walked back to the door, pausing to look up at the graceful facade, its odd spires vying for the heavens.

"It's from the bible," Cassandra muttered, looking up at the grand church.

"What's that?" Stone paused with his hand on the door handle.

"The riddle," she said, still looking up at the cathedral in thought. "It's from the bible. Part of it anyway. Make a path straight in the wilderness. That bit."

"You're right, it is," Stone nodded. "Old Testament and New. It was one of the prophecies in the Old Testament that the Gospels referred to in the New one. Isaiah from the one and Matthew and Mark from the other, I think. 'And a voice cried in the wilderness: prepare a way for the Lord. Make his paths straight.'"

"Whose was the voice?" Cassandra asked. "Sorry, religion was seen as an interesting psychological phenomenon and proof of memetic evolution in my childhood home. I didn't get to go to Sunday school. Or church."

Jacob regarded her in silence for a while, his hand still on the door handle. He let it fall. "The voice belonged to John the Baptist," he said. "He was the cousin of Jesus, although somewhat removed. Mary, the mother of Jesus, when she found out she was pregnant, went to visit her cousin Elizabeth who, although she was too old to have a child, and her marriage had been childless so far, was six months pregnant. When Elizabeth saw Mary, so the tale goes, the child in her womb leapt for joy and Elizabeth greeted her with what became the second part of the Ave Maria: blessed art thou amongst women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb. That child was born, named John, and grew up to become a prophet preaching repentance to the Jews, and whoever else would listen, I guess, out in the wilderness. He would baptise them with water from the river Jordan. In time, Jesus too went to be baptised by him, and John recognised the Messiah and told his followers to follow Jesus instead. The different Gospels tell it different ways but the story is more or less the same."

"So we're looking for John the Baptist then?" Cassandra frowned. "And 'under his gaze' we should find our next clue."

"More accurately, I think we're looking for his head," Stone corrected her. "He was beheaded for prophecy, and pissing off a princess."

"One alliterating Librarian is quite enough, thank you," Cassandra smiled. "So where do we find his head?"

"I dunno," shrugged Stone. "That's what I thought we were going back here to find out."

"You mean you knew it was John the Baptist all the time?" Cassandra rounded on him, her voice rising in pitch. "And you didn't tell me?"

"I just assumed you knew!" Stone raised his hands in surrender. "It seemed kinda obvious to me. I forgot you were the kid who didn't get to believe in anything but particle physics growing up!"

"Well, there were some areas of that they thought questionable," she mused, momentarily distracted. "And don't get my father started on the Higgs Boson!"

Something dawned on Cassandra and she looked sheepish.

"Let's go see what we can find out," said Stone, opening the door. "I'm sure there's at least one book in the Library that catalogues the whereabouts of saintly relics."

The library was quiet when they arrived, Colonel Baird sitting behind her desk, reading a file on manticores.

"Where's Flynn?" Cassandra piped up immediately.

"At the dig," replied Baird, looking up. "Said something about rain on its way and dashed off."

"No rain in France," grinned Stone. "Little cool for this time of year, but clear blue skies wherever you look."

"Unless you're in a crypt, of course," Cassandra added.

"Did you find your book?" Baird asked.

"Just another riddle," replied Stone, shaking his head. "We need to find the head of John the Baptist."

"We're just back to see what the card catalogue can tell us, then reset the door," said Cassandra, "Will you be okay resetting it for Flynn?"

Colonel Baird raised an eyebrow. "I'll try not to take offence at that," she said smoothly. "Flynn seems to have his own set of rules for the door anyway. If it's not set when he needs it, he can reset it temporarily from his end."

"Oh," Cassandra's face suddenly brightened. "Like with the dragons."

"Exactly," Baird shrugged. "Anything to prove he doesn't need a Guardian."

"I'm sure he needs you, Colonel Baird," Cassandra consoled awkwardly from the drawers of the card catalogue. 

"Oh, he needs me," agreed Baird with a fond smile at thin air. "He doesn't know it, but he needs me."

"He knows," said Stone, smiling at the back of Cassandra's head. "Trust me, he knows."

"Ooh! I've got one!" Cassandra called. "Minutes of the Meetings of the Second Vatican Council. Unedited Version. The contents description says there's a list of known true relics and their whereabouts."

"Planning on throwing that one at me too?" Stone called out to the Library. There was an uneasy shuffling of pages among the books.

"Section N, shelf 2, book 7," Cassandra called.

"I'm on it," he replied and vanished up the stairs.

"How go the wedding plans, if you don't mind me asking," said Cassandra, turning to Colonel Baird again.

"We haven't quite picked a date yet," she replied, putting down the file and smiling up at the redhead. "I get the feeling Flynn would be happy to just drag us all off to the nearest registry or church and get it over and done with."

"But you wouldn't?" Cassandra pressed.

"The first time I got married I was young, impetuous, and we had both just joined the army with no knowing when we might get deployed. That wedding was nearest and dearest in a very geographical sense, and happened two weeks after the engagement in the base chapel. We didn't even bother getting an engagement ring, and we only waited two weeks because my father was in hospital having an operation. We waited so that he could walk me down the aisle." Eve paused and a shadow crossed her face. "At least he got to do that. And Mom got to take photos. They won't be here this time round, but at least they were there then."

"I'm sorry," Cassandra winced. "I didn't mean to bring up sad memories."

"Sad is good," Eve smiled wanly. "Apparently it's happy for deep people."

"Got it!" Stone called down the stairs.

"What took you so long?" Cassandra called back, looking over her shoulder at him.

"The darn book refused to come out of its shelf!" Stone protested.

"Refused?" Baird raised an eyebrow.

"They're having an argument," Cassandra whispered conspiratorially, with more than half a laugh in her voice.

"I thought it stopped throwing things at him once you two got together?" Baird whispered back.

"It did," Cassandra shrugged merrily as her boyfriend descended the last few stairs, "but yesterday morning he offended it."

"All I said was 'a picture's worth a thousand words'," cried Stone in exasperation.

The books shuffled darkly, like drumming fingers on a desk.

"It's a quote!" Stone shouted to the air in general.

Cassandra took the book from his hands and flicked it open to the list in question. She dragged a finger down the list.

"Here it is," she said, tapping the page. "The skull of John the Baptist is in Amiens. In the cathedral there."

"I thought that book was in Italian?" Stone frowned.

A pencil eraser from Jenkins' desk hit him on the back of the head.

"Really?" He rubbed at the spot on his own skull where the projectile had made contact, wincing.

"You might speak more languages than me, but that doesn't mean I can't learn any at all," smirked Cassandra with her nose in the air.

From the shelves behind them came a sound of riffling pages. It reminded Stone of someone blowing a raspberry. He turned and glared at the shelves. A rolled up tape measure hit him on the back of the head this time. Even Baird wasn't sure where that had come from. Stone turned again with a shout. Cassandra took his hand, leading him over to the door.

"Come along, sweetie, stop playing with the Library," she laughed, dragging him through the wormhole.

"I ain't..." The voices vanished with a pop and the doors swung closed.

Eve Baird looked at the doors, then looked at the ceiling. "Behave!"

XXXX

The back door opened out of the rest room of a small cafe. It was a French cafe, judging by the menu and clientele. It led them out onto a busy main street, opposite a park.

"Which way?" Cassandra wondered out loud.

They looked around. There was a crossing at a junction not far away.

"Let's head for the park," suggested Stone, taking her hand. "Move away from the buildings. Maybe we'll get a better idea of our surroundings."

They headed for the crossing and Stone made to walk over, but Cassandra pulled him back.

"What?" He said, turning to look at her. "Pedestrians have priority on crossings."

"I don't think we need to cross the road," she told him, pointing down the side street opposite the junction. "At least not that one."

At the end of the pedestrian only side street, the lovingly carved details of intricate cathedral walls rose. And rose.

"I guess we've found it then," sighed Stone.

"That's not all we've found," said Cassandra, pointing at the city map on the opposite side of a sign explaining the rules for hiring the bicycles from the stand next to it. There were many tourist attractions labelled on it. One of them read "Maison de Jules Verne".

"When this is done, we are so coming back here for that," she said. "Right now, though, let's go find this book, or riddle, before they close up."

"I don't think they run on a normal nine to five, darlin'," Stone called after her, hurrying to catch up.

The cathedral's south transept portal greeted them at the other end of the street. The sheer height of the building should have warned them, but even still they both let out a gasp of appreciation when the true magnitude of the cathedral in its entirety became apparent. They hurried inside and joined the sporadic groups of tourists on their perambulation around the choir. On the far side of the apse, Cassandra felt a tug on her cardigan sleeve. She looked round and followed Stone's gaze. A skull grinned up at them from behind a perspex cover.

"So we just need to follow his gaze," muttered Stone, scanning the top of the choir frieze and the windows beyond, "and we should find it."

"Not necessarily," mused Cassandra. "We know he likes words, and the riddle was quite short. What if it's more literal than we think?"

"How so?" Stone frowned.

"Well, a riddle left out here with all these people visiting and taking pictures and videos, would surely be spotted," she explained. "What if by 'under', he really meant 'under'?"

"You mean below the skull?" Stone turned to stand by her, looking down at the fleshless grimace. "We'd need Jones to get in there without anyone seeing."

"Maybe," she said dreamily. "Maybe not. Give me your phone."

"Why?" Stone asked, handing it over regardless.

"Your camera is much better than mine," she replied, still only half paying attention to him.

"Best there is," he shrugged, then added: "for a phone, of course."

"Hah!" Cassandra straightened up triumphantly, ignoring the shocked, confused, amused and condescending looks she got. She passed the phone back to its owner. "Here. Look."

Stone looked at the photo. It was had been taken on maximum zoom, and the detail was starting to pixelate, but there was definitely something there. As he tilted the phone to get better light, words began to make themselves apparent. Not words, he realised. Numbers.

"One thousand, one hundred and sixty minus one thousand three hundred and forty five," he read from the socket of one sightless eye. He switched eyes. "One hundred and twenty eight divided by three hundred and eighty seven. Even I can see that math don't work."

"Minus one hundred and eighty five," murmured Cassandra, "and zero point three three zero seven four nine, more or less."

"Okay, so it works out," admitted Stone, "but it doesn't work. Those numbers don't mean anything."

"Numbers always mean things," she corrected him. "It just depends on how you look at them."

"What am I missing?" Stone frowned.

"You read 'minus', I read 'to'," she said. "You read 'divided by', I read 'out of'."

Jacob stone blinked and looked at the numbers again. "Eleven sixty to thirteen forty five. They're dates," he realised. "So what's one twenty eight out of three eighty seven?"

"I guess we'll work that our once we know what happened between the years of eleven sixty and thirteen forty five," grinned Cassandra. "One riddle for you, one for me. I wonder what the next one will be like?"


	12. For the Book, Chapter 3

"JENKINS!"

The shout rang through the office and filtered out into the corridors and attached rooms of the library itself.

"You hollered, Mr Stone?" Jenkins' finely clipped tones floated down from the mezzanine.

"We thought you'd be looking after Ezekiel," Cassandra soothed. "Sorry."

"And if I had been, I am certain that shout would have reached me," replied the oldest member of the team. "I assume there was a reason for it?"

"What happened between eleven sixty and thirteen eighty five?" Stone asked.

"Forty five," corrected Cassandra.

"Thirteen forty five," he conceded.

"What am I? Your own personal almanac?" Jenkins railed, stalking down the stairs. "Maybe I should just change my name to Siri and be done with it!"

"Nah, we already asked Siri, it didn't know," said Stone, grinning.

"I'm not sure whether to be relieved or insulted," grumbled Jenkins. "Relieved I haven't been upstaged by a mobile telephone, or insulted that you asked it before me!"

"Do you know what was going on in those years?" Cassandra wheedled. "I'm sure it's before your time and everything, but you do know so much..."

Jenkins cut her off with an amused look, aware that she knew full well those years were decidedly part of his 'time'. "Flattery will get you everywhere, Miss Cillian," he sighed. "As it happens those years do ring a bell. They are when work began on the Cathèdrale Notre-Dame de Paris, and when that building was deemed completed and was consecrated. Another riddle I presume?"

"Half of one," she replied with a smile. She reached up and kissed the old man's cheek. "Thank you Mr Jenkins."

Stone had already set the door by the time Cassandra turned round. He looked over at the empty desk in the corner and frowned. "Where are Baird and Flynn?"

"Egypt," Jenkins answered promptly. "Any other questions you'd like answering while I'm here, Mr Stone?"

"Not unless you happen to know how many more stops there are on this treasure trail we're on," Stone called back over his shoulder as they headed through the door.

Jenkins watched them go. "Well now, it would rather spoil all the fun if I told you that," he mused.

"How much do you know about this little quest they're on?" Ezekiel's voice floated down from the mezzanine.

"Not enough to be of any great use," he assured the ex-thief. "And I thought we'd agreed you were going to stay lying down."

"I can't read lying down - my arms get sore," the boy moaned. "Then I end up falling asleep and the book falls on my head and wakes me up."

"Probably a sign you should still be in bed, then," Jenkins explained patiently. "Remind me what it was I told you when you decided to drag yourself out of your sickbed and interrupt my research?"

"Yeah, yeah," groaned Ezekiel, never one to admit defeat if he could help it. "I think I'll go take a nap."

XXXX

Jacob Stone stepped out of the wormhole onto familiar ground. He looked up at the Eiffel tower, rising tall in front of them at the far end of the street. It was raining in Paris. He looked over at Cassandra, in her short blue dress and cardigan. She was fishing around in her bag for something. A second later he dodged back as a large telescopic umbrella unfolded itself with ballistic speed. She giggled at the look on his face.

"You didn't think I'd travel the world in this outfit and not take an umbrella, did you?" Cassie grinned.

"I didn't think they'd miniaturised and weaponised them!" Jacob replied. He wrapped an arm around her and pulled her close, taking the umbrella out of her hand and holding it over them both. He kissed her, then met her puzzled gaze. "I love you, you know."

"I love you too," she replied, still watching his face suspiciously. Then light seemed to dawn. "You set the globe with Mabel's postcards, didn't you."

"Yeah," he admitted, drawing the word out with a grimace.

"You are the only man I know that would feel guilty over that," said Cassie, not sure whether to frown or laugh.

"I just..." Jacob looked up at the underside of the umbrella, it's spokes sparkling silver in the reflected light of the street lamps that were bursting into life all along the roadside. "The last time I was here, Mabel had just died and a part of me, however irrational, still blamed you. She was in my thoughts the whole time. I couldn't even bare to think about you. Not even to tell myself how unfair I was being. I just want you to know I'm not thinking that way now. I don't blame you. Not in any tiny way. Not even subconsciously. I still feel sad when I think about Mabel, but she ain't uppermost in my thoughts right now. She's there, at the back of my mind, but you're here," he placed a hand on his heart, "and you always will be."

"It's okay, I don't mind," smiled Cassie. "She saved us all, we shouldn't forget her, especially not here."

She kissed him, then wrapped her arm through his, which was still holding the umbrella. "Come on," she said. "You can show me around."

They walked through the rain swept streets, the pavement shining up at them like silvered glass, happy in each other's company. Gradually, the perfectly symmetrical facade of Notre-Dame de Paris rose up to meet them, illuminated from below by carefully concealed lighting. The door, despite the sinking sun hidden behind the dark rain clouds, was still unlocked. They made their way inside, shaking the rain from the umbrella. Cassandra picked up a visitor guide. Stone started scanning the various inscriptions and dedications on the walls and windows. He was standing looking up at a beautifully detailed painting in a side chapel when he heard her slight footsteps near his side.

"You're not going to like this," she whispered.

"Not the crypt again," he groaned. "It's closed off for archaeological work, and guarded. We'd never get down there."

"No, um," she tried to stop the smile that tugged at the corners of her mouth. "A bit higher."

"Tell me," he glared. 

"There are three hundred and eighty seven steps to the top of the South Tower," Cassandra blurted out, drawing looks from visitors across the other side of the nave. She stifled a giggle at the look of utter exhaustion that crossed her boyfriend's face at the thought.

"Tell me you can keep count," he groaned.

"I think so," she shrugged.

"'Cause I really don't feel like climbing up and down over a hundred stairs numerous times just because I lost count around the one twenty mark."

"We'll be fine," she laughed, though quietly. "I'll concentrate on counting, and you can carry me up the stairs."

"Not happening, hey!" Jacob called after her in hushed tones. She looked back with a grin and continued to lead the way to the South Tower. He bit back a curse and hurried after her.

Finding the hundred and twenty eighth stair turned out to be the easy part. After an hour of searching for clues, the pair were still no further forward, with neither the end of their quest nor the next riddle in sight.

"What if he meant one twenty eight down from the top?" Cassandra mused.

"Then we find a hotel and come back tomorrow," grumbled Stone. "The light will be better in the morning."

"The light's electric in here," laughed Cassandra.

"Of course it is," he groaned. A thought knocked him out of his black mood. "But it wouldn't have been then," he said, looking up with shining eyes. "These lights wouldn't have been installed until much later."

"You think it's behind the lights?" Cassandra frowned.

"No, I don't think it has anything to do with the lights," he replied, smiling.

"But you just said..."

"I think it has to do with what was here before the lights." Stone pulled a flashlight out of his pocket and knelt down. "The electric lights are creating shadows that weren't here then. Any shadow would have been cast by the wavering light of the torch or candle the climber carried."

"What are you doing?" Cassandra asked as she watched him tilt his head to look along the vertical axis of the step.

"Hah!" Stone cried out in triumph. "Gotcha!"

"Really?" Cassandra's voice went up a notch. "I don't see anything."

"You're at the wrong angle," he told her. "It's only visible if the light hits it at certain angles, and only readable if you look at it at exactly the right one. Like those sidewalk pictures."

Cassandra took out her notebook. "So what does it say?"

"Where he who stole the sacred Vase,  
Was, like all who followed after him, crowned.  
My words, in sight and sound, ring true,  
Around the edge of Charlotte's skirt."

"Oh good, another poem that doesn't rhyme," quipped Cassandra, busily scribbling.

"It does in French," said Stone. "At least, the top three lines do, then the fourth doesn't."

Cassandra stuck her tongue out at the back of his head. "Any ideas where we might find this Charlotte?"

"One or two," he said. "Now, however, I suggest we go get dinner, then go home, reset the door and go find a hotel at our next destination so we can start the day bright and early on French time."

An odd noise made him look round. Cassandra was looking upwards and biting her lip. He looked up but couldn't see anything.

"What?" Stone asked.

"Nothing," said Cassie in strangled tones. "I just can't say what I was going to say in a church."

"Oh?" Jacob raised an amused eyebrow and shone the torch on her. "I must remember and ask you about it when we're not in a church, then."

"What makes you think it wasn't a swearword," she shrugged defensively.

"You're blushing."


	13. For the Book, Chapter 4

"Bienvenue à Reims," said Stone as they stepped out of the hotel next morning. "I would love to give you the guided tour, but since I've never set foot here either, we'll just have to follow one of the hotel's tourist maps."

Cassandra watched him frown down at the map for a minute or two before walking over and turning it round in his hands. "He can map out a pentagram in a crowded school hall, but..."

"Hey, I knew where I was!" Stone retorted. "I was just planning the best route."

"It would help if you told me where we were going," said Cassandra, raising an eyebrow at his protestations.

"You'll see," he told her, raising a smug nose in the air.

"It's the cathedral again, isn't it," she deadpanned.

Stone sighed, grimacing in chagrin. "How'd you work it out?"

"Good with patterns," she stated plainly. "Remember?"

He grumbled wordlessly and handed her the map. "I ain't a city boy anyway."

"Aw, sweetie," crooned Cassie, her voiced dripping with fake sympathy. "Were you trying to work out what side of an office block moss grew on?"

"Hey," he frowned, nudging her with his elbow. "It's green and it grows north, don't matter what on."

"Uh-huh," she smiled and wrapped her arm through his. "This way, lover."

He stopped in his tracks and looked at her.

"What?" Cassie frowned in confusion. "Too much, too soon?"

"No, it's not that," he said, shaking his head, a smile tugging at one corner of his mouth. "It's just, the last time you called me that you were very, very drunk."

"I wasn't aware I _had_ called you that," Cassie blinked.

"Very, very, _very_ drunk," said Jacob, the memory replaying itself in glorious technicolour.

"I also don't recall getting even moderately drunk since we got together," she looked away, searching her usually infallible memory.

"Oh, we weren't together then," he grinned, enjoying the petty revenge for the moss comment that had walked straight into his grasp. He almost laughed out loud as Cassie's eyes, once creased in the struggle of remembrance, shot wide open in embarrassment.

"Please tell me I didn't say or do anything else I need to apologise for," she said. He opened his mouth to say something and she held up her hand to stop him. "Anything I _don't_ already know about, Jacob."

"Well now," he began. She glared. He took hold of the warning hand in his own and brought it to his lips. "Nothing at all, darlin'."

They walked, hand in hand, through the streets of Rheims. Tourist orientated shops and patisseries lined streets with their windows stocked full of keepsakes, cakes, pastries and bags of small pink wafers. A wonderful smell wafted from the inner realms of a Turkish restaurant, mixing with the already present odours of coffee and croissants that emanated from every café. Postcards sat idle on their rotating stands. The murmur of conversation from the customers stopping by for breakfast or early browsing was hushed and confined to the interiors of their respective haunts, avoiding the chill morning air.

"It should be left here, straight on until we reach the tram lines then turn right," said Cassandra, looking around her at the four roads leading away from a fountain that looked like a dandelion ready to start telling the time. She glanced back down the one they had walked up, slowly so her beloved boyfriend could stop and admire all the art deco and art nouveau architecture, and everything else in the temporal mixing pot of Rheims, on the way. She looked round when he didn't answer and caught him trying to see further down a side street by leaning sideways. "Hey, you!" Cassie batted him on the arm. "We'll add it to The List. Come on."

The List was something they had both started individually almost as soon as they worked out they had a wormhole at their beck and call. When fate, friends and the occasional Greek myth had conspired to bring them together, they had soon found out about their respective lists and combined them to make The List. One, ever increasing, tally of places they wanted to visit. Properly. They had scored a few off so far, but not many, and they seemed to be adding more and more as the days went on and the missions came and went. If they continued at this rate, Cassandra extrapolated, they would have to live at least as long as Jenkins to do justice to the whole thing.

Now there was an idea she had never thought would cross her mind.

They reached the tram lines and turned. The side of the cathedral towers rose to meet them in breathtaking beauty. She didn't have to call Stone's attention back to the task in hand as they hurried through the wide street to the cobble stoned square in front of the three main portals. Above them the carved tympana and towers grew with an organic elegance lacking in the perfect symmetry of Paris.

"It has two rose windows," commented Cassandra.

"It's lucky it has any," said Stone. "It took a direct hit in the war, like so much of the city. Half the windows in the apse have been rebuilt and replaced. At first just with plain glass, then later with contemporary stained glass. The process of making stained glass windows has changed so much over the centuries there was really very little point in trying to keep to the same type. Besides, so many gothic cathedrals have windows from so many different eras it would be silly to baulk at adding another. Buildings like these took lifetimes to create. Several lifetimes in some cases. If a master mason managed to land a job building one of these he would be set for life, assuming the general lack of modern health and safety didn't intervene. Chartres had the largest and grandest crypt. Amiens was the last and greatest. Paris was the first and most geometrical. Rheims is where the kings of France were crowned, starting with the Frankish king, Clovis the first. There should be a stone in the floor of the nave marking where he was baptised."

"So that's who 'he, and all who followed after him', are," said Cassandra, still gazing up at the myriad of faces looking out from the arches and upper façade of the cathedral. "What's the 'sacred vase' and who is 'Charlotte'?"

Jacob took her hand and led her inside. "Before Clovis, the first king to unite all the Frankish tribes, was baptised and crowned, he waged war on the various parts of what we now know as France. Not all of them, granted, but by the time he was done most of them were under his control. It was the custom then for the soldiers of the winning side to plunder the treasures of the city they had just conquered. Call it a salary bonus. Well, one of the items they pillaged was a great vase, which the bishop of Rheims, Saint Rémi, or Rémigius, begged Clovis to return, even if they returned nothing else. The conqueror agreed to this but, legend has it, the soldier in possession of the vase did not, and he cut it almost fully in half with his battle axe. Later, allegedly, Clovis paid that treatment back on the soldier's head, but not before he had been baptised into the Catholic church and crowned King of France, right here."

Cassandra jerked to a halt, eyes still turned upward as she listened. Stone had stopped about half way down the nave. She looked at him, then down to where he was pointing. There was the stone paving slab with the name of Clovis, and a bit more in French, shining out at her in fresh black paint. She looked back up at him. "And Charlotte?" 

"Okay, this you're not going to like so much," he admitted.

"It's not some French queen's corpse or anything gruesome, is it?"

"Afraid not," said Stone. "It's in another tower."

Cassandra groaned this time. "How far up?"

"All the way," he said. "It's the name of one of the two bells in the south tower."

"This guy has something about stairs," she said, "I'm sure of it!"

They made their way back up the nave to the south tower. It was easy enough to gain access, but the climb was a slow one. By the time they got to the top, both Librarians had to sit down and get their breath back. It was a good five minutes later before either of them looked at the two great bells. Still catching up on oxygen, Stone pointed to one of the two bells. Cassandra got up and looked closely at the edge of the great iron masterpiece.

"There's something here, but it's in code," she called back.

Stone pushed himself to his knees and leant over. "What kind of code?"

"Looks like Ogham," mused Cassandra, only half listening. "Here, give me a minute."

Stone watched as his girlfriend, letter by letter, transcribed the coded message into her notepad and handed the resulting output to him. He looked down. He looked back up again.

"I feel like a happy strand of mRNA after delivering my message to the ribosome," she said, grinning down at him. "I've transcribed, now it's your turn to translate."

Stone grumbled and scanned the notepad as Cassandra joined him on the step.

She rested her head on his shoulder and looked down. The words on the notepad were accurate, but they made no sense to her. "Is it Greek?"

"Esperanto," muttered Stone, reading. He scribbled down words, changing a few as he went, then handed the pad back to Cassandra.

"I knew its birthplace before it was born,  
I walked the streets of a city unknown,  
lost but not yet seen.

Where lovers meet to bind their lives  
Or risk their happiness on a single question  
There you'll find my final word."

Cassandra looked up from reading the translated poem and stared at the wall opposite. "It's not a cathedral."

"Not this time," agreed Stone, eyes fixed on the stairs tumbling away before him.

"And before you get any ideas," she added, still staring at the wall. "That _would_ be too much, too soon."

"Duly noted," he nodded, without looking round.


	14. For the Book, Chapter 5

Stone and Cassandra stepped out of the door hand in hand, their destination right in front of them. There was still a bit of walking to do, but no maps would be required here: the Eiffel tower climbed high above the Parisian skyline, even if it had not been right down the far end of their street. There was no apology this time, just a sad smile on Stone's face. Cassandra watched him thoughtfully.

"This is one of the places you visited, isn't it," she said, with a nod of realisation. "I remember the postcard."

"Eiffel Tower, Pont Neuf," he said, not looking round. "Anywhere on a postcard that was open at that time. I went back to visit the Louvre later: it wasn't."

Cassandra kept her eyes on him, studying his features in an effort to read his mind. "What's it like? The view?"

"It's beautiful," he murmured, looking down at the street. "Should be even more so in the sun."

"It'll be windy up there," she mused, pulling her jacket closer around her. The sun was warm, but the wind was cold even at ground level. "I know that's no danger to the tower, I mean Eiffel and his engineers factored that in when they built it and anyone can see that the structure is mathematically perfect to withstand the force of even a hurricane..." Cassie broke off at a smile from Jacob. She had been babbling again.

"Don't stop, you're adorable when you geek out about something," he said softly. "It's one of the many things I love about you."

"What if they're not letting anyone up?" Cassandra asked, blushing. "Wind might not affect the tower, but surely it could affect people's balance, and maybe the lift machinery?"

"They'll only close it if the wind poses a serious threat to safety," Stone shook his head, looking up at cotton wool clouds moving across a blue sky. "It ain't that bad."

He looked at his watch and smiled.

"What?" Cassandra's eyes narrowed.

"By the time we get there and find what it is we're looking for, it'll be lunch time," he grinned. "There's a restaurant on the second floor I think it would be appropriate to try out."

"Appropriate?" Cassie looked sideways at him. "Why? What do you know?"

"Oh, you'll find out," Jacob chuckled.

"Don't you dare..."

"That's not why," grinned Stone, shaking his head.

"Okay then," she tightened her grip on his hand for a moment. He looked round and she smiled. "Let's go."

XXXX

"How was Egypt?" Ezekiel's voice broke into Flynn's reverie.

"Hmm?" Flynn looked up, momentarily startled. His eyes rested on the young Librarian, slouched back in a chair that dangled on two legs, while his own sat atop the desk. "Oh, you know: hot and sandy. My good lady wife-to-be will be back in a minute you know, with Jenkins."

Ezekiel dropped his feet to the ground and let the chair fall forward. "Hot and sandy? Is that all you got? Last time we went to Egypt you couldn't stop lecturing everyone on the... Well, on everything, really. Not for days. You're just back and all you've got to say is hot and sandy? Jenkins said you were in the Valley of the Kings!"

"Hmm? Oh, we were," the Librarian nodded. "Explored some tombs, Hatshepsut's temples at Deir el-Bahri and Speos Artemidos. All very interesting."

"Then why're you so quiet?" Ezekiel pressed. "Come on, mate: I've had those places on my to do list since I got here! Spill! What are they like?"

"They are..." Flynn paused, his brows furrowed and eyes downcast. "They're awesome, Ezekiel. You should go visit them yourself sometime."

"What's wrong?" Ezekiel asked, getting up from his distant chair and walking round the desk to a closer one.

"It's nothing," Flynn shook his head. "Just a feeling."

"Of what? _You're_ not getting ill now, are you?"

"No, nothing like that," he replied, sitting up and looking the ex-thief up and down. "Did you ever get the feeling there was something staring you right in the face and you were missing it?"

"Once or twice," the young man shrugged. "It usually led to much running and sirens."

"That's the feeling I've got now," Flynn crossed his arms and leant back. "It's like I have enough pieces of the puzzle to know there's a picture there, but I don't have enough to see what it is yet."

"I know that feeling," Ezekiel nodded, sobering. "Last time I had that feeling there was a murderous ghost girl trying to kill us all and I got stuck in a dollhouse. Stone was the only one who worked it out from the clues the house could give us."

"Hmm, how's he doing? Have you seen him lately?" Flynn's brow furrowed again. His eyes sought out Stone's workspace and grew distant.

Ezekiel pulled a face and shrugged, shaking his head. "Ships that pass in the night, mate."

"Aren't we all, right now," mused Flynn, eyes drifting to his and Eve's desk.

Ezekiel followed his gaze. "Something worrying you about Colonel Baird?"

"I think..." Flynn's brow creased deeper. "It's nothing, Ezekiel. Just some stuff we didn't really get the chance to talk about. Dreams. I'm sure we will."

"You look kinda overly worried for something as simple as talking about hopes and dreams," said Ezekiel. "Just saying."

"It's nothing," Flynn assured him, getting to his feet and putting on his brightest smile. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some overdue research I really must make a start on."

Ezekiel watched Flynn disappear, bounding out of the office with forced energy. He was still staring at the door when Jenkins wandered back in, looking over his shoulder at the rapidly receding researcher.

"What...?" Jenkins began, looking from the door the Ezekiel.

"Jenkins, if there was something hinkey going on, would you know?" Ezekiel enquired politely.

"Hinkey?" Jenkins raised an astute brow.

"Weird, out of the ordinary, not normal," he expanded.

"We live in a library of magical items that is not entirely situated in the same dimension as the rest of the mortal, human world," Jenkins clarified. "Please define normal."

"If something big was coming," he tried again. "Like Dulaque going after the Loom of Fate, say. Or even bigger. Would you be able to tell?"

"If you mean do I have some sort of magical apocalypse radar, then no. No more than anyone else employed here, anyway," said the old man with a wave of his hand. "I have a little more experience in dealing with such things, but the best magical barometer for anything of that ilk is the Library itself. If it isn't sensing anything, I wouldn't worry. If it is, it'll let us know."

"Like it did with the Loom of Fate?" It was Ezekiel's turn to raise an eyebrow now. "Oh yeah, that was really clear. Dulaque nearly kills us, but hey: we got all the right ingredients to fix it!"

A book hit Ezekiel on the back of his head. "Hey! Invalid here! I'm in recovery!" He looked down at the book. It was the one on Norse mythology he had started reading for lack of anything better to do and the fact that Beowulf had rather got him stuck in that world for the moment. The bookmark was now lying halfway between where he was seated and where he had left it. He pouted. "Hey, I was reading that!"

"A part of my having more experience," breezed Jenkins, "is the fact that I learned long ago: not even the Librarian speaks ill of the Library!"

XXXX

"We should be looking for the last riddle," Cassie giggled. She had been admiring the expansive vista of the city of Paris from the viewing platform of the Eiffel Tower. Then someone had wrapped his arms around her and kissed her neck, and been lucky that she knew it was him. Of course after that, she'd been a little, well, distracted. The bird's eye view of France's decadent capital could wait.

"It ain't going anywhere," Jacob murmured in her ear, sending shivers down her spine. "We'll have a better shot at finding it once these folks clear out for lunch too."

"You do realise that public displays of affection do not embarrass the French," she smiled, leaning back into him nonetheless. "I mean, they're practically encouraged here!"

"You complainin'," he murmured, working his way down her neck. He reached a familiar spot and smiled as her nails dug into his arms.

"We need to go find that clue and that book," Cassie said quickly, dragging herself away with great mental effort. "And we can have lunch here if you want, but no more stops until we're home, please."

"Just come here a minute," said Jacob, catching her arm and pulling her round to face him. He kissed her soundly on the mouth, one hand in her hair, the other round her waist. The kiss quickly deepened, her arms snaking up his chest and around his neck as she melted into him. When they finally broke apart, both their faces were flushed. "There is no way in this world I was gonna take you to the most romantic place in Europe and not do that," he shrugged.

"You know, if we leave a marker, we could always come back when they're closed," Cassie suggested, more than a little breathless. Since using Flynn's phone to attach a door to Dulaque's mysterious warehouse, the Librarians had tried out leaving other objects in places it was difficult to get a door to link to directly. They'd had some success and various 'markers' were now scattered across some of the more obscure, or more difficult to get into, sites of magical interference.

"You go do that. I'll start looking," breathed Jacob, kissing her cheek then disappearing off to a corner of the platform to begin his search.

Cassie rocked on her heels, already missing his presence. "Focus," she muttered, under her breath, and wandered back over to the lift doors.

Placing a marker could take many forms. If it was unlikely someone would move it, an object could be left that linked to another object remaining in the office. The latter would be used to set the back door. It could be two halves of a photo, one of a pair of earrings, a message written on paper then torn in half. In one case there was a pepper pot hidden in the dry stone wall of a highland cottage, its matching salt cellar now on a shelf overlooking the mezzanine. Most of the time, though, especially once they, or rather Ezekiel - always a lateral thinker - had figured out it worked, they used the method Cassandra used now. Concentrating on framing the doors evenly, she tapped the camera button on her phone and took a photo. Saved to her cloud, with a note attached to identify it, the picture could be retrieved and used any time to return to those exact doors.

She smiled and thought back to Ezekiel's first words on discovering it had worked. "Loopholes are awesome!"

"Cassie!" Stone shouted across. She turned. He was down on one knee, at the point where the tower overlooked the main part of the city, but he wasn't looking at her. He was looking intently at the tower metalwork instead. She hurried over.

"Where lovers meet to bind their lives," she quoted, kneeling beside him and photographing the engraved metal. "Of course you'd have to kneel to see it."

"We don't know what it is yet," he reminded her. "What do you see?"

"It's been painted over so often it's hard to see anything," she shrugged. "Maybe Ezekiel can do something with the picture to make it show up." She hesitated and reached out a hand. "Or maybe..."

Stone watched as she closed her eyes and ran her fingers down the metal. "What is it? Morse code again?"

"No," she murmured, concentrating. "It's Braille."

"What does it say?" Stone asked.

"It makes no sense to me. Here," she got to the end of the markings and reached for her notepad. She scribbled down the alien characters and passed him the pad. "What do you read?"

"You are not gonna believe this," he breathed.

"What?" Cassandra's eyes widened.

"A floating city contains the key  
Where they will build a shrine to me  
Below its masts the book will be  
Awaiting warmer climes from thee  
Hidden in plain sight for all to see  
Librarians: keep it safe for me."

"It says Librarians," she gasped. "Plural! And it rhymes in English!"

"Yeah, and in French for every pair of lines," he added. "But that's not all. You know where this means we're headed?"

Cassandra paused, thought about it, then her eyes widened again. "I have always wanted to go there!"


	15. For the Book, Chapter 6

Jules Verne's house was quiet. A tour group had been gathering in the winter garden - the glass fronted semi-conservatory that looked out to the tourist entrance - but Stone and Cassandra had let them move on ahead. They wandered slowly from room to room, taking in details and watching for any sign of a floating city.

The Hetzel bookshop recreation on the first floor gave them their first big clue, with copies of the Voyages Extraordinaire lying open under glass, or depicted in posters, showing scenes from favourite tales. One showed a sailing ship floating in the sky, its masts skeletally lacking sails. It bore the moniker "Une Ville Flottante": a floating city.

"Jacob," Cassandra called, her voice hushed. He hurried over. "That's it isn't it?"

"A floating city," he read. "It fits the line, but I don't see how it can fit the rest of the poem: it's just a picture."

"There are models and photographs of models everywhere in this house," countered Cassandra. "Maybe there's a model of that too."

"The tour guide said at the start that most of the models were up in the attic," said Stone, eyeing the spiral staircase in the middle of the room thoughtfully. "We should head there."

"Most not all," Cassandra shook her head. "We should follow the visitor trail through the house. It'll take us up there eventually and we'll know we haven't missed anything."

"Yeah, except the bits they don't let the visitors see," Stone growled. "That's a camera obscura up there in that tower. Story or not, I don't think there's a better place to find a floating city than in a one of those."

"He used the exact title of his book," sighed Cassandra, who was convinced her boyfriend just wanted the chance to play with a camera obscura. "He wrote the poem as if he knew exactly where the book would be more than a hundred years after his death. He wrote it as if he knew we could easily find it. It's going to be in a model somewhere. And if it isn't: then we'll worry about breaking in to the camera obscura."

Stone grumbled again and headed off sulkily to the next room. Cassandra rolled her eyes and followed.

The second floor held more of Verne's life than of his publisher's. They made their way through the library, with a look into the study. Cassandra insisted on walking the original route of "Around the World in 80 Days", which was picked out in a large print of Verne's doodlings on a world map that now covered most of the floor.

At last they came to the attic. In the dark, conservatively lit upper reaches of the house, dark wood shelving units stood out from the walls to meet them, slanting forward like arms waiting to embrace a wandering soul. Every shelf held another relic of Verne's life, from books and puppet theatres to models of characters, monsters or contraptions. Cloth covered chests held flat screen televisions showing animated versions of his stories. And, hanging from the ceiling above one such chest, la ville flottante sailed.

Stone shone the light from his phone upward, first at the hull of the ship, then at the masts rising above it, then at the hooks on the ceiling to which it was affixed.

"Well, I can get it down okay," he muttered to Cassandra, "but how do we get it out of here?"

"I have an idea," she replied. "You just get the boat down."

"It's a..." Stone began, but she was already walking away. He had to say it, though, even just to thin air. "It's a ship! Look it has lifeboats hanging on the sides!"  
"Jenkins?" Cassandra whispered into her phone. "Jenkins, can you hear me okay?"

"Ageing I may be, Miss Cillian, but deaf I am not," came the quiet purr of the old man's voice.

"We need a door to our exact location," she hissed. "Use my emergency marker."

"We have not tried out the personal emergency markers yet, Miss Cillian," warned Jenkins.

"It'll work!" Cassandra hissed back. "Just hurry up before the next tour group comes through."

"I have no doubt that it will work, Cassandra," Jenkins retorted, his patience sounding wearied. "We came up with the idea behind them together if you recall. I merely do not know where you put it!"

"Oh," she had the grace to sound sheepish. "Sorry, Mr Jenkins. It's in the little Japanese papiér maché box on the third shelf of the second last stack from the end, behind the mirror."

"The one you brought back from Nara?"

"That's the one," she nodded, even thought she knew he couldn't see her.

There were footsteps and the shuffling of books, then footsteps again. "Got it."

The line went dead.

The door into the attic, next to which she was standing, glowed then opened.

"My, my," said Jenkins, peering through the wormhole bubble. "Jules Verne's attic. I've always wanted to have a nosey round here. You know I leant him a book once, he never did give it back."

"Jenkins?" Stone did a double take from the other end of the attic, where he had just stepped down from a pile of old trunks.

"Told you I had an idea," smirked Cassandra.

"Well, it worked," he agreed, "Go on then: lead the way."

"Well," Cassandra drew the word out a bit. "Actually, you have to go first. Or more accurately I have to go last. Don't worry, I'll explain it later. I'll take the boat though. It looks a bit fragile to be first through the wormhole."

Stone glared at her. "It's a ship. It has boats on it. You can put a boat on a ship, but not a ship on a boat."

"The floating city," she compromised, holding out a hand.

"Hmm," he growled, handing her the model and stepping through the doorway.

Cassandra followed, carrying the ship safely through to the office and setting it down on the desk, where Jenkins immediately propped it up with books piled on either side.

"Somewhere in there, we think, is the book," said Stone, pointing at the hull of the ship.

"You think?" Jenkins raised both eyebrows at them. "You didn't make sure?"

"There wouldn't have been time to investigate it fully before the next tour came round," shrugged Cassandra. "We thought we'd have better light and better tools to do so here anyway."

Jenkins bobbed his head, admitting the veracity of this statement.

"The poem said 'below its masts', and 'hidden in plain sight'," said Stone. "The model was part of the museum tour, so the plain sight bit rings true. Now we just need to check out the interior below the masts."

"Wait here a moment," said Jenkins, tugging on his chin thoughtfully. "I may have something that would help with that."

He disappeared out of the office in the direction of the lab, returning a few minutes later with an olive fabric roll of items. He set the roll down on the desk and untied the fraying cord that bound it. The fabric unrolled to reveal an old dissecting kit, complete with scalpels, probes, fine forceps and very, very sharp scissors.

"I preferred my old traditional kit," said the old man, "but it didn't have my longevity, and so I acquired this version from a friend."

"Is that blood?" Cassandra queried, pointing at a dark red-brown stain on the cloth.

"Merely ink," Jenkins assured her. "Now if you wouldn't mind bringing me that desk lamp over there..."

Stone reached out a hand to the lamp and jumped back as a spark attacked his fingers.

"Don't touch the metal," continued Jenkins. "I've been playing with a few of Mr Tesla's ideas. Only on a small scale, you understand."

Stone lifted the lamp by the wooden handle set into the base and brought it over to Jenkins. He nodded his thanks to the younger man and returned his attention to removing items from his dissecting kit and placing them flat on the fabric. In expectant silence he studied the craft's deck and hull. When he was ready, Jenkins picked up a pair of fine forceps and a scalpel. He made six fine incisions, then lifted the deck off the ship like the lid off a cookie jar.

"Behold," he said, gazing reverently downwards, "the unedited, unabridged, original version of Jules Verne's posthumous work: 'Paris in the twentieth century'. Known here, you will note, as 'Cahors in the twenty first century."

"I'm guessing it's more than just the title that's different?" Stone asked.

"Oh, most certainly," Jenkins nodded. "When I first read this I cautioned him against writing something that spoke so overtly about time travel. Everyone even remotely connected with magic would see that it was a work of fact, not fiction, if he published it as it was. He rewrote it, moving the date of its setting earlier and casting himself as the protagonist, though I believe he hid it well from anyone not already an expert on his life. He was the one who had been sent forward after all. We had been on the trail of the Janus coin. He took the coin to where he thought it would not be found, then sent himself home. It took him quite some time to find his way out of those tunnels by himself though, and by the time I next set eyes on him he was haggard with hunger and completely dehydrated. He was also delirious. He couldn't remember where he had left the coin, but he knew it had vanished from his hand as he travelled. Or, perhaps, his hand vanished from it, as we do now know the coin stayed exactly where he left it. Only he moved.

"And it was later found by that French guy who sent us on its trail with his disappearance," finished Cassandra. "I see."

"Indeed," Jenkins nodded. "I couldn't be sure he was the first to find it, but it appears that way, certainly."

"Hey, Jenkins: where is everyone?" Cassandra mused aloud.

Jenkins pointed to the clock over his desk. "In bed," he said. "It's six am."

"You were up?" Cassandra's eyes narrowed as she asked the question.

"I got up half an hour ago to get this place tidied up and begin sorting out breakfast for everyone," said Jenkins with a dismissive wave. "I expect I'll have to feed you two now as well."

"We did skip lunch," Cassandra mused.

"Only because someone was too eager to get home!" Stone countered, throwing up a hand.

"Keep that going and you'll never find out why," she shot back.

Stone opened his mouth then closed it.

"Since you _are_ here," said Jenkins. "Why don't the pair of you play nice and go make a start on breakfast for six."

With delicate hands he removed the book from its hiding place. "I'll go find a safe home for this," muttered Jenkins as he reverently carried the old book out of the office and in the direction of the Library. "Remember, that's six people, not six am."

Cassandra looked over at Stone and put on her most charming eyes. "Is this a good time to tell you that I can't cook?"


	16. For the Lost Leonardo, Chapter 1

It had been a long time since all the Librarians, and Jenkins and Baird of course, had eaten together. The usually map, scroll and book covered central desk now held pots of coffee and tea, orange juice, milk, boxes of cereal, an empty toast rack and the remains of a hot, cooked breakfast, the smell of which had been enough to drag Ezekiel from his sickbed, which he was quite happy to stay in all day when it suited him. The chatter around the table had been sporadic but joyful. They were all here. They were all safe. It was worth celebrating.

"You're quiet," murmured Eve, looking over at her fiancé beside her. "What's wrong?"

"Hmm?" Flynn looked round, his hand still in mid-air where his chin had been resting on it. "Oh, nothing. Just thinking."

"Flynn, when you think, you're mouth thinks with you," she chided. "What is it?"

He gave a quiet, wry laugh and stood up. "Well, I am full," he announced in his usual, good-humoured spirits. "And, if you will all excuse and forgive me, I would just like to steal away my future wife for a moment." Flynn held out a hand to Eve. "My dear, if you would accompany me."

Eve took his hand and followed him from the room. When they reached the Library floor, she dragged him round to face her. "Okay, now I'm really worried, Flynn. What's going on?"

"You mentioned a dream in Egypt," he began, taking both her hands in his. "I know this sounds weird but I need you to tell me all of it. It wasn't a hypothetical question, was it: you'd already had that dream."

"I had," she nodded. "When we were on the boat, I dreamt I went up on deck and watched a cat, like the one you described the next morning, walk from the mouth of a wadi towards me. When I turned it was sitting on the apex of the roof, watching me. I removed a thorn from its paw. It went back the way it came."

"A thorn from its paw?" Flynn mused. "Pakhet came to you for help. And that was the only time you dreamt of her?"

"When we fell, I thought I felt a cat lick my face then brush past me as I came round," she told him, watching his eyes.

"So when you needed her help, the goddess came to you," he murmured. "But it doesn't make sense: in the dream, it was she who needed your help, not the other way round. Dreams like that are usually foreshadowings of some event."

"Aren't dreams usually, like, backwards from their meanings or something?" Eve pulled a face.

"Only in psychology," said Flynn, bobbing his head. "In mythology they're usually far more direct. Obscure and metaphorical, but direct."

"So if Pakhet didn't need our help then," began Eve, "does that mean she's going to need it soon?"

"Maybe," said Flynn, his eyes far away in thought. "Maybe we've already helped her in some way. Maybe removing the statue from the temple helped her."

"How? Nobody even knew there was another floor hidden below the public one," shrugged Eve. "It's hardly likely to suffer from flood damage that far from the river."

"I don't know," murmured Flynn, turning his head in the direction of the statue in question. "It's vexing."

"You do seem very vexed," quipped Eve, glad to see this tug a smile from the corner of his mouth.

"It is very vexing," he responded, returning her smile. "Very, very vexing!"

"And yet I'm sure, whatever it is, we'll work it out," she smiled encouragingly. "Together, Librarian."

"Together, Guardian," he grinned back. "Ooh, we should write that into our vows!"

"You mean you haven't finished yours?" Eve scolded jokingly.

"I-I'm at the er, editing stage," her fiancé assured her, failing entirely in his endeavour to look serious.

"Of course you are," said Eve, a look of dubious sympathy spread across her features. "Have you spoken to Stone yet?"

"They're only just back!" Flynn cried waving a hand in the direction of the office.

"I've asked Cassandra," Eve smirked.

"When?" Flynn's eyes narrowed.

"When I helped her bring in the coffee and breakfast dishes," Eve announced with a smug smile of triumph.

"I'll ask him today," her fiancé assured her. "I will."

"Uh-huh?"

"I promise: barring monsters, mayhem and magical mysteries."

"Oh, we're on the M's today?"

"Mm-hmm."

They made their way back to the office, arm in arm and smiling happily. Breakfast had been declared over in their absence and the desk was devoid of dishes. The sound of laugher and splashing from the kitchen suggested Cassandra had been landed with the washing up. Stone's presence in the office confirmed that Ezekiel was helping. Or possibly hindering. Eve cast a questioning glance at him, sitting back with a book in one hand and mug of coffee in the other.

"We had a deal," he explained, glancing up and shrugging, then looking back to his book.

Eve shrugged and pulled a face that screamed 'well, okay then'. She looked round as she felt Flynn move away from her side and saw him heading for the shelves. She caught his eye and glared. He mouthed back 'go help with the dishes', and shooed her in the direction of the noise. She crossed her arms and the glare darkened. He sighed and rolled his eyes, which didn't help, then, arms waving expressively mouthed 'leave me on my own with him'. Eve's brow cleared and her mouth made an O. She blew him a kiss and walked out of the room.

"You wanted to talk to me about something?" Stone asked, watching the oblivious antics from the other side of the room with an look of amused puzzlement.

"Er..." Flynn hesitated, lost for words for once. "Actually yes, now you come to mention it. It's just... It strikes me that... I mean, we've got to know each other quite well, reasonably well, well, well enough..."

"Were you this bad when you first asked Eve out on a date?" Stone winced.

"Worse," admitted Flynn. "And that was after I'd kissed her!"

"No offence, but I don't think that tactic would help in this situation," laughed Stone, putting the book and coffee aside. "Just say what you gotta say. I'm all ears."

"I was wondering, hoping, really..."

"Hey Stone!" Ezekiel's voice cut though Flynn's haphazard sentence.

"Ah, Ezekiel," said Flynn. "I didn't hear you there."

"Was that sarcasm?" Ezekiel asked.

"Nooooo, of course not," replied the Librarian, shaking his head.

"That was definitely sarcasm," Jones frowned.

"Not if the first one wasn't," Flynn sing-songed under his breath as the ex-thief sauntered past him to Stone.

"Need your help on a case, mate," announced Jones, presenting his clippings book to the centre of attention.

"Need?" Stone looked up dubiously.

"Want," Jones shrugged. "Well, thought it might be up your alley, anyway."

Stone looked down at the book and his eyebrows rose. "She was right."

"I'm sorry?" Ezekiel feigned to look mortally offended.

"Cassandra, when she sent you through here," grinned Stone.

"It's not like I wouldn't have asked you: she was standing right next to me!" Jones cried, flinging his arms out in loud appeal.

"New case then?" Flynn queried. "I'll just leave you two..."

"You know, I think Flynn should come with us," suggested Stone before Flynn could escape.

"Really?" Ezekiel frowned.

"Really!" Flynn groaned.

"Yep," nodded Stone. "It'll give us time to talk about your stag party. Of course, that's really a job for a Best Man, and I'm sure Ezekiel has much more experience and contacts in the party planning world that I do..."

"Of course I do, mate!" Ezekiel cut in, brightening. "No offence, but nobody wants a barn dance for their stag, not these days anyway. And I can score us free tickets to any number of clubs, and I'm talking members only clubs here. Gentlemen's clubs, if I may..."

"Stone, I need you to be my best man," Flynn blurted out.

Stone's grin broadened. "Deal."

"Hey!" Ezekiel returned to mortally offended status. "What's wrong with free entry to clubs?"

"No offence, Ezekiel," began Flynn, "but, after spending so long managing to stay alive doing this job, I do not have any intention to be done to death now by my intended when she finds out who planned my stag night."

"Just because I planned it doesn't mean she has to know what went on," the young man protested.

"She'll know," replied the other two in unison.

Ezekiel raised his hands in mute surrender.

"What have we got?" Flynn asked, walking over to peer down at the book over Stone's shoulder. The newspaper article on display showed an obituary, followed by another announcing an auction of the recently deceased's estate.

"Okay, we're going to an auction," said Flynn, rubbing his hands. He paused and looked over at Jones. "But can't you just steal whatever it is? Why do you need us?"

"Actually I said I needed him," Jones pointed to the art historian in the room. "This thing wasn't exactly clear on what to steal and he's more likely to know than you. No offence."

"Donald Carmichael," began Stone, indicating the name on the obituary, "was one of the foremost art collectors in the world. There's gonna be a lot of museum pieces at this thing."

"And you hope Stone will be able to pick out the one we're after," Flynn sighed in understanding.

"Again: my gig," said Ezekiel. "I asked him. I didn't ask you. Just like you didn't ask me to be your Best Man."

"Ah, quit complainin', we'll invite you to the stag party," grinned Stone.

"Yeah, because it'll be so much fun with you in charge, mate!" Ezekiel complained. "One note of a country and western song and I'm bailing."

"You're not bailing," said the two older men together.

"Although it might make who we chain to a lamp post more interesting if he tried," mused Flynn.

"Like you have a set of locks that could hold me," grinned Ezekiel. "I'm awesome, remember?"

"Houdini didn't just write books too, you know," grinned Stone.

"Oh, you've read those?" Flynn asked breezily.

"Yeah, they were interesting," Stone breezed back.

"Okay, fine: he can come," decided Ezekiel. "I'll go get my bag."

Stone and Flynn watched the young man sulkily slink away, disappearing in the direction of his current abode.

"Eve asked you already didn't she," murmured Flynn when he was sure the ex-thief was gone.

"Might have mentioned somethin'," smirked Stone.


	17. For the Lost Leonardo, Chapter 2

The gentlemen arrived at the auction through the back door. Both theirs and its. Almost as soon as the three men stepped away from the door, a waiter with a bag of rubbish moved past them and out into the alleyway beyond.

Flynn did a double take. "Does it always do that?"

"Part of the magic, mate," grinned Ezekiel. "If you don't know it's there you can't find it. The perfect escape route."

"Unless you're Morgan le Fay of course," Stone added grimly. "Come on, we're going to draw attention to ourselves if we stick around here any longer."

"Eve mentioned you'd had a case involving an auction before," began Flynn, following Stone in step with Ezekiel. "I've been to a few myself. They're usually boring mostly, but you can find some gems here and there. What was it like?"

"Boring, mostly," Stone growled.

Flynn blinked and looked at Ezekiel. "Was it something I said."

"Nah, he's just bitter because he spent the entire time being possessed by a murder mystery story," grinned the thief. "Stole a priceless necklace and everything."

"Oh," Flynn's brows rose. He lowered his voice. "That book he was reading before we left..."

"Was a biography of the Italian artist Michaelangelo," cut in Stone. "I ain't deaf and I ain't possessed. Can we drop it now?"

"Wasn't he one of those Turtles?" Ezekiel queried, grinning until Stone turned, then assuming a look of serious inquiry.

Stone started to say something, paused, began again, then changed his mind and, with a wave of his hand, walked away.

"And now you know why you're really here," said a broadly grinning Ezekiel to a narrow-eyed Flynn by his side. "To stop him from killing me!"

The hall set up for viewing the auction pieces was far larger than that of the one they had attended previously. It's tall ceiling and large, curtained windows suggested more of a ballroom than an auction house. Stone's eyes took in little of his architectural surroundings, however: they were fixed on the display that stretched out before him. Row upon row of easels, plinths and cases displayed treasures so valuable they could have bought and sold several smaller countries outright. Statues, paintings, sketches, jewellery, snuff boxes, cabinets, curiosities, lamps, crockery, clocks, mirrors, eggs, trinkets, keepsakes, books.

Books.

Stone walked over to a bookcase of ancient volumes, their leather bindings faded and worn. The Libris Fabula had come from an estate like this one. Could there be another book involved? He looked round as Flynn and Ezekiel caught up with him.

"Look at these," he said, indicating the books. "They're easily as old as that collection we came across in Bremen. Could it be one of them?"

Flynn peered at the volumes and shook his head. "I don't think so," he opined. "I'm pretty sure we already have original copies of each of these. First editions can be a bit troublesome. Well, all firsts, I guess. The first of anything has its own kind of magic attached."

"Tell me about it!" Stone replied with a wry laugh. "One first nearly sent me to jail, another..."

"Another saved Cassandra's life," Ezekiel finished for him. He looked up at Flynn. "You're sure you've got all the dangerous copies?"

"There only ever is one, and we've got all of these," Flynn nodded. He tapped his head. "Photographic memory, remember."

"Okay, so it's something else," said Stone. "Something that's either the first of it's kind, or mythologically important?"

"More or less," agreed Flynn.

"Jones, think you'd know if an item was mythological?" Stone raised a brow at the ex-thief.

"If it's worth stealing I'll have researched its history," smirked the young man. "Plus Jenkins has had me reading up on all the old stories while I've been held captive there."

"Eve told me you'd been enjoying your lessons," Flynn frowned, replacing the arrogant smile on the young man's face with a sheepish grimace.

"It's not all boring, when you get into it," he admitted.

"Either way: you look for possible mythological items," commanded Stone. "Flynn, you do the same, but also go through any books you find. See if there are any we don't already have."

"Hey, whose case is this?" Jones complained.

" _You_ asked for _my_ help," returned Stone. "Not the other way round."

"And exactly what help will that be," riposted Jones, his voice rising, "other than handing out orders like you think you're Baird?"

"I'm the art guy," barked Stone, temper fraying. "I'm gonna go look at the art!"

"No offence, but I don't see how the difference between a Caravaggio and a Canaletto is gonna help us here, mate."

"And that is precisely why you need _me_!" Stone simmered, fighting to keep his voice, and temper, down. "It's about firsts, Jones. Do you know who was the first artist to use the impressionist style, and on what picture? Or the first to think of using egg white as a fixative in paints? What about the guy who invented the lost wax method for bronze casting? No? Okay: here's an easy one. Who was the guy who invented cubism? Come on, Jones: everyone knows that!"

"Okay, gentlemen, that's enough," cut in Flynn firmly. "Ezekiel you are right it is your case, however, you did ask Stone for his help and it is his expertise we need right now. Stone, go do your thing and call us if you find anything. Try not to kill anyone and stay away from apples. Ezekiel, why don't we start off our search in the other direction."

"Nobody really knows," grumbled Ezekiel as they headed away from the bookshelf.

"What's that?" Flynn asked, looking round.

"Nobody really knows if it was Braque or Picasso who started the cubism movement," he expanded. "We used to think it was Picasso, and he got all the credit because he was the bigger name, but now we think Braque was an important instigator too."

"Okay," said Flynn, carefully. "Don't take this the wrong way, Ezekiel, but how do you know that? I didn't know that."

"When we worked it out, Braque's work shot up in value," shrugged the thief. "I just wondered why he was making me more money suddenly."

Flynn stopped in his tracks, mentally kicking himself. "Of course you did."

XXXX

"I'm not entirely sure I condone gambling," murmured Jenkins, peering over the ladies' shoulders at the sheet of paper on the desk. "Especially not in the Library."

"The Library disagrees," giggled Cassandra, pointing to a line of neat text halfway down the page. "We didn't even think about that one!"

"Hmm," frowned Jenkins, no longer sure who was teaching whom bad habits. He looked down the list. "I find it highly unlikely that Mr Stone will lose his composure to such an extent that he will visit physical violence upon the person of Mr Jones."

"When was the last time _you_ tried working with just the two of them?" Cassandra asked him, frankly.

"Although I do think he's less likely to punch him if Flynn's there," consoled Eve.

"As opposed to you or me?" Cassandra raised an eyebrow.

"Heck no!" Eve laughed. "As opposed to nobody!"

"Do all women have such a deprecating view of their male partners?"

"Only the sensible ones," quipped Eve.

"That's quite a long list," Jenkins continued. "What makes you think you've got them all right?"

"We pay attention," chorused the girls.

XXXX

Flynn had carefully steered Ezekiel out of Stone's path as they crossed on the opposite side of the hall, but eventually the time had come where they had to meet and discuss their findings. He could tell, from the perplexed look on Stone's face, that the art historian had had no more luck than the thief and the student of learning.

"I don't get it," Stone exclaimed as he reached them. "I've looked at every item in this room and there is nothing! Not one first anything in the whole room. I mean the collection is huge. Surely by statistics alone there should be something in here that fits the bill."

"Maybe the old dude just preferred art that wasn't experimental," shrugged Jones.

"Maybe, but if it ain't the art," he appealed, "what is it? Did you two find anything?"

"Nothing," Flynn shook his head. "Anything remotely interesting we've already got."

"What about mythological stuff?" Stone persisted.

"Nada," replied Jones. "Not that either of us recognised."

"Maybe it's not an item being sold," suggested Flynn. "Maybe it's something a buyer is using to make sure they win the bid, like that app Morgan le Fay made?"

"Or something the seller is using to bump the price up," added Jones.

"Or neither," sighed Stone. "It could be anything! It could be the house itself for all we know. We've dealt with a mystery house before."

"Yeah, but that was tiny compared to this place," argued Jones. "Do they even come this big?"

"No reason why not," admitted Flynn, his voice quiet and thoughtful.

"Jenkins had a book on them last time," said Stone, pulling out his phone. "I vote we call him, see what he's got."

"Oh good, we're a democracy now," commented Ezekiel, earning him a glare from Stone and rolled eyes from Flynn.

Stone led them out into a corridor, where it was quieter, and dialled Jenkins' number.

XXXX

The phone on Jenkins' desk rang and the one remaining male noticed how neither woman, both now giggling over more sheets of paper, and a magazine or two, even flinched.

He sighed and reached out a hand. "Hello, gentlemen, how can I help you?"

"Jenkins?" Stone's voice sounded worried. "You sound cheerful. You never sound cheerful."

"Thank you for that thrilling episode of psychoanalysis," threw back the older man, his voice dripping sarcasm.

"We need you to look out those books you found before on the mystery houses," Stone continued, more confidently now that the status quo had been resumed. "We need to know if any of them are, or can appear to be, big old mansion houses."

"How big, exactly?" Jenkins' brow furrowed.

"Well, the hall they've got the auction lots in looks like some kind of Disney ballroom," replied Stone.

"That's big," mused Jenkins. "I'll see what I can find out, but I find it highly unlikely."

A shout from the other side of the room brought Jenkins' attention back to the women.

"I am being reminded to ask you how things are going," he intoned.

"Other than the fact we have found precisely squat and the thief seems to think he's in charge," responded Stone, "we're good."

"I do hope he hasn't annoyed you too much," Jenkins continued to recite in dreary monotone. "I would hate to have to start patching him up again."

"Oh, he's still in one piece, no bruises," Stone assured him. "So far."

"And Mr Carson isn't being too irritatingly intelligent?" Jenkins asked, in the same way Q would ask Bond to bring his car back safely.

"No," Stone was starting to sound curious now. "He had to remind us about his photographic memory, but it's just as well he did: we needed it."

"Good, good," said Jenkins, batting away a list of questions to ask. "I will call you as and when I know more."

He hung up and turned to a Cassandra whose face was bright red with the effort of holding in laughter. "Any more of those and they would have worked out something was going on," he told her, indicating the questions on the sheet. "As it is, Mr Jones remains unbruised and Mr Carson has only reminded them of his intelligence, in the form of his eidetic memory, once. I have no interest to know which bets that wins or for whom, just as I have no interest in bridal bouquets or invitations stationary. I shall try to find out more when I call them back, but in order to do that, I must first find the information they require. Do excuse me."

Without any further ado, he extricated himself from the hive of girliness and beat a hasty retreat up to the mezzanine.


	18. For the Lost Leonardo, Chapter 3

"You seriously think this is a mystery house?" Jones queried, following Stone and Flynn up a nearby staircase. "Mate, you could probably fit every mystery house there is into this place! It's huge!"

"Well I don't see it being anything in that ballroom back there, do you?" Stone hissed back.

"We're just new to this," Jones persisted. "How do we know what's magical and what's not."

"You're not that new, Ezekiel," cut in Flynn, "and I'm certainly not new to this and I didn't spot anything. I've never encountered a mystery house before, but it would not surprise me if a magical house could change its appearance or size, especially on the inside. I mean the inside could be in a totally different dimension, like the Library itself, for instance."

"Yeah, yeah, or the TARDIS, I get it," sighed the young man. "The last one wasn't exactly the same inside as out, either."

They reached the landing at the top of the stairs. Corridors extended away in opposite directions.

"I vote I go this way and you take Stoney-face there the other," decided Ezekiel, turning to his corridor and heading off. A hand on his collar stopped him in his tracks.

"You ain't disappearing off on your own in here," stated Stone. "You're comin' with me."

"Just how much of a masochist must you be to want to spend even more time in my company?" Jones spat back.

"Okay," sighed Flynn, giving Stone a pointed look until the latter removed his hand from the thief's collar. "How about I go with Ezekiel and you take the other corridor."

"Fine," growled Stone, stalking off in the opposite direction.

"Have you two ever worked together on..." Flynn searched for a suitable word. "Anything? I mean without the arguments and Stone making a bet you couldn't plan anything that didn't involve just you?"

"That was the first time we'd worked together without Cassandra or Baird," replied Ezekiel, referring to a case where Stone, Flynn and he had retrieved an ancient Greek amphora from some rather belligerent harpies in a race against the two ladies' retrieval of an actual witch's broomstick. They'd won the amphora, but lost the race. "The _only_ reason Stone didn't argue every single point was because he was waiting for me to prove him right and fail."

"But you didn't fail," said Flynn. "Surely there have been missions since..."

"Since the two lovebirds got together, they've been pairing up on everything," shrugged Ezekiel. "They didn't need me in the way."

"So you've been working alone, ever since Cassandra and Stone became an item?" Flynn asked, frowning.

"Not entirely," admitted Ezekiel. "Jenkins has been helping me out here and there and the Library always seems to give me cases I can handle. Anyway: you were the one who said we could go out alone now. You graduated us."

"I didn't mean all the time, though," said Flynn gently. "I've been there: no good comes of doing this job alone."

"I'm fine," Ezekiel shrugged, shaking his head. "I'm not alone. I have Jenkins helping me. I was more alone than that before I took this job."

"You should have all of us," replied Flynn. "We're a team. We're all perfectly capable of working alone, yes, but we shouldn't have to. We should be working together more often, all of us."

"I'm fine," Ezekiel repeated, and Flynn saw there the look, and heard there the voice, he had seen on his own face and heard in his own voice all those years ago, after Simone had, well, gone. It was the look of a liar, and the sound of the lie you keep telling yourself in the mirror every day until you've convinced yourself it's true.

"When was the last time you left the Library, Ezekiel?" Flynn asked, watching the young man carefully. "And I don't mean on a mission or to the dig."

"Technically the dig was a mission at one point," pointed out the thief.

"When?" Flynn persisted.

Ezekiel winced at his tone and shrugged again, avoiding his glance. "I dunno, I've been busy."

"When we get home, we're all going out for the evening, assuming the girls are still around," announced Flynn. "We'll even drag Jenkins along."

"Yeah, because that worked so well last time!" Ezekiel laughed.

"That wasn't our fault: that was Shakespeare's Quill," clarified Flynn. "This time we'll... We'll call ahead and make sure the girls aren't working on anything dangerous."

They reached a door that was closed and locked. So far every door they had passed had been open, or at least unlocked, and they had been able to look in and take stock without interrupting the flow of their conversation. Now, that was no longer the case. A locked door meant something hidden.

"Do you want to do the honours or shall I?" Flynn asked, gesturing at the lock.

Ezekiel pulled out a set of skeleton keys and gave him a look that contained all of his old arrogance. "Please," he said. "Like you could crack this faster than me."

XXXX

Stone made his way carefully and methodically through every room, scanning bookcases, display cabinets and walls for anything that stood out. The last mystery house they had encountered had tried to warn them through pictures. He had worked out the meaning of the clue, but only once he had been safely tucked away in the dollhouse until the ghost had been vanquished.

Most of the rooms were guest bedrooms. Some were bath or shower rooms. A few seemed to be little writing rooms or studies, each with their own sets of bookshelves, or, in one case, a long desk, easel and covered canvas. There were items on the desk too. Scrolls and books, scattered in piles or laid open on the desk, reminded him of the office of the Library. The canvas on the easel was covered, but painting equipment was resting nearby and he didn't lift the cloth. It would be an intrusion to look at an artist's work before it was finished, without his or her permission of course.

He left the room and turned a corner into another corridor. This one was shorter, with a door to a small box room on the wall opposite that of the room he had just left. The only other door was at the far end. It was double door, which immediately piqued his interest. He pushed it open with one hand, and looked up.

Lining walls two storeys high all around him were books. There was a walkway around the edge of the second storey, with a wrought iron spiral staircase leading from it to the lower one. A wheeled ladder attached to the underside of the walkway allowed access to books higher than the arm could reach or the eye could see. Another had a similar set up on the floor above, but with a cage around its upper reaches, to avoid the worst consequences of a foot slipping. In the middle of the long wall, opposite the door, and again in the middle of the short wall that had no other rooms beyond it, multi-paned leaded glass bay windows reached up from floor to ceiling. In the curve of one sat an armchair with moveable lectern. In the other sat a carved mahogany desk with a leather backed chair almost certainly concealing an inlaid leather desktop for writing on.

Stone walked over to the desk and confirmed the existence of the leather. There were writing materials on the desk, and a bookstand, but nothing that might give any clue to the interests or business of the writer. He turned away, walking round tall green leafy plants to reach the nearest bookshelf, and began looking through the titles. He spotted some original cover Jules Verne novels, pulled out his phone and took a picture, sending it to Cassandra then dialling her number.

"Hey, Cassie, you'll never guess what I just found," he said as soon as the phone answered.

"That's great, sweetie, but we're a teensy bit busy here right now," came the reply.

"Seriously? You're pickin' out weddin' stuff and you ain't got time to look at a photo?"

"Fine," she muttered. He heard her click windows on her phone. "Oh, Hetzel cover Jules Vernes, how odd. Although that looks a pretty big library. I guess there would be bound to be something we've come across already in there."

"I know, I just saw it and it made me think of you is all."

"Aw, that's sweet," said Cassandra's disembodied voice, "How are you getting on with Flynn and Ezekiel this time round?"

"They're just checking out something else right now," he replied. There was a loud noise in the background. "What was that?"

"Nothing, nothing," came the reply. "No, Eve just knocked a pile of magazines over. Nothing to worry about. Have fun."

The line went dead. Stone looked at the phone and shrugged. "Must have been some pile of magazines."

He pocketed the phone and continued looking along the shelves. All the great philosophers were there: Plato, Aristotle, Sophocles, Socrates, da Vinci, Galileo, Newton, Darwin.

He paused.

He stepped back a pace.

He put his hand out to one of the da Vinci manuscripts.

Everything went dark.

XXXX

At the other end of the building from Stone, Flynn and Ezekiel made their way around the formerly locked room. It was a small, comfortably appointed, study. A computer was gracefully built into a bookcase that covered one wall from floor to ceiling, with the exception of the area in the centre that projected outward to make a desk. The retractable shelf for the keyboard suggested that the writing level above was more often used. Leather clad armchairs with foot rests turned their backs to the modernity and towards the opposite wall, complete with traditional fireplace and mirror in the midst of antique wood panelling. To the right of the fireplace, a console table held a trio of decanters and variety of appropriate glassware. Ezekiel, bored with the books, attempted an assault on the computer. Flynn, bored with nothing and everything all at once, inspected the decanters. They held the old fashioned labels of Yeksihw, Ydnarb and Mur. A nod to the days when the arrogant rich believed their ill-educated servants would not know what the bottles contained. They were wrong. Of course the servants knew what they contained. They contained alcohol.

A bitten back curse made Flynn glance round to see Ezekiel having no luck with the computer. He turned back to the console table and then the fireplace. The grate was cold, but not unused. The mirror above it was old and of the French style, its elegantly carved wood painted with gold leaf and enamel. He moved on. He paused.

Walking out to the middle of the room, Flynn turned to look at the fireplace, with the drinks table on one side and nothing on the other. There was no accounting for taste, of course, but it looked odd. He walked over and started tapping the wall. At no point did it sound hollow.

There was the tiniest movement of air though.

He scrutinised the wood panelling, examining every blemish, every knot, until eventually he reached the mirror. He examined the wood carvings. He spotted the tiniest crack in the enamel. He smiled.

Moments later there was a rush of air as a door swung inward. Flynn heard Ezekiel turn and give an exclamation of surprise. The youngest Librarian reached the door alongside Flynn and together they stepped into what could have been a minor rocket mission control.

"It's a panic room!" Ezekiel laughed, looking all around him. "The monitors will tune into the security cameras around the house. The fridge freezer will contain water and frozen meals. The cupboards will have tinned stuff. There's an entire mini kitchen over here..."

The door swung shut.

The thief held up both hands. "I swear I didn't touch anything!"


	19. For the Lost Leonardo, Chapter 4

"Well that's another fine mess..." Flynn muttered.

"I didn't touch a thing!" Ezekiel protested. "I promise!"

"I believe you Ezekiel," replied Flynn. "I do. I was standing here watching you, remember. But if it wasn't you and it wasn't me..."

"Who was it," finished the younger man. "Or what."

"There's a computer station here," said Flynn, waving a hand at a terminal below the monitors. "Think you can hack it?"

"There are only two hackers in the world better than me," boasted the thief. "Unless one of them set this thing up, or there's some other genius computer geek who's never got themselves known on the wrong side of the law, I will have it hacked and willing to execute my every command in no time at all."

"Okay then, thief, do your thing," shrugged Flynn. He wandered around the room, browsing across the multiple monitors staring down at him. A thought struck him. "If you're not the best hacker in the world, who are the other two and why didn't the library recruit them?"

"Flynn, I'm hurt," replied Ezekiel, counterfeiting the tone. "I've never claimed to be the greatest hacker in the world, just the greatest thief. Hacking is just one on my many geniuses. These guys are specialists. They have one field and they know it better than anyone else. They've gone head to head a few times too. Nobody really knows who's the top dog. Names aren't something you spread about in that world though, especially to people like yourself, who aren't a part of it already. All I will say is one of them keeps the other in check. If he were ever to quit, it would just be pure chaos out there."

Flynn examined the contents of a few cupboards. He checked the walls for ventilation ducts. They were there, but not in any way that would aid escape. He worked his way round to the wall that backed on to the study they had just left. The middle of it was covered with a rolled down projection screen. It was one of the more solid, mechanically operated ones. Something about it made Flynn stop and think. He stood back. He stared at the blank screen. He stared at the closed door. He closed his eyes and thought back to the layout of the room beyond. He looked around for buttons to press that would raise the screen. Eventually, in a drawer beside the computer, he found a remote control with an up arrow. He jabbed the remote at the screen and pressed the button. The screen began to rise. He laughed.

Behind the screen was a window through to the study. It was a one way window. It was the back of the mirror, whose frame had provided the hiding place for the secret room's entry button. Maybe there was an exit button somewhere around it too. He started looking.

"It's no good," sighed Ezekiel, shaking his head in frustration. "This thing is password protected with a password so long, and so many fire walls, that we'd run out of water before I can get into it. And that's assuming I can even get it to call out or talk to any others."

"Ooh! Call out!" Flynn cried, clapping his hands. "We've been so busy looking for a complicated way out, we forgot the simple one!"

He retrieved his phone and dialled Stone. The call rang out. He dialled Eve. The call was answered with a loud crash in the background."

"Eve?" Flynn frowned. "Is that you?"

"Hello Librarian," said Eve's slightly breathless voice on the other end of the phone.

"Are you alright?" Flynn's frown deepened. "You sound out of breath."

"I'm fine, I'm fine," she reassured him. "Just a bit busy right now if I'm honest."

Flynn's eyebrows rose. "Doing what? It sounds like you're being attacked by a minotaur!"

"Nope, no minotaurs here," she replied. "Just moving a few things around. Big, heavy things. Sometimes they fall over."

"Nobody hurt I hope?"

"All good," she replied brightly. "No problems here. Why, do you need something?"

"Do I have to need something to call you?" Flynn's voice tried to sound sincere, but failed miserably. "Can't I just call to say I love you?"

"Nope," she decided. "No, Flynn, you call because you need something _and_ to tell me you love me, if you've any sense."

"And I do love you," he smiled.

"Now I know you need something!" Eve laughed. "What is it?"

"We may have got ourselves slightly stuck," admitted the Librarian. "And by me I mean myself and Ezekiel. Stone went the other way along the landing, but I can't get him to answer his phone."

"Did you boys have a fight?" Eve asked seriously.

"No, we, I... I thought it would be a good idea for Ezekiel and Stone to take a break from each other for a bit, and we were searching a massive old mansion house so we thought it best if somebody keep an eye on Ezekiel..."

"I resent that," chimed in the ex-thief in question.

"So he and I went one way and Stone the other," finished Flynn. "We found a panic room and went in to investigate, but now it seems to have locked us in. We need someone to come and let us out."

"Really?" Eve's voice shot up. "How is your air supply? Do you have water and food? There should be water and at least dried food, maybe tinned, depending on how fussy the owner is."

"Oh, that's all fine," he assured her. "We're in no immediate danger as far as I can see, we just can't get out."

"Okay, that's a relief," she sighed. "We'll just finish up here then come rescue you. How does that sound?"

"Like I've lost track of whose turn it is to rescue whom," grinned Flynn through the phone. "We're up the stairs, turn right at the first main landing and it's the fifth door on the left. Call me when you get here and I'll tell you how to open the door. I shall see you soon, Guardian."

"See you soon, Librarian."

Flynn hung up and turned back to the window. He froze. "It seems we have company."

Ezekiel got up from the computer and looked out the window. Three men were standing between the two leather armchairs. One, with body language that screamed security guy, stood silently behind another who, in a fine Italian suit and expensive leather shoes, was talking to, or perhaps at, the third man in a rather animated fashion.

"I sure would love to hear what they're saying," mused Flynn.

"Posh guy is yelling at flunky number one because he hasn't found something," began Ezekiel. "Two somethings. He says 'we know there were three of them. We have one. Where are the other two.' If that guy's a thief he's not one I've ever come across."

"You can lip read?" Flynn asked, watching the young man thoughtfully.

"Yeah, of course," Ezekiel shrugged. "I can sign too. Can't you?"

"I never had cause to learn," shrugged back Flynn. "There was always so much else that took priority. Why did you?"

Ezekiel, who was still watching the three men, remained silent for a moment, deep in thought. "There was a deaf kid in the foster house I grew up in. Nobody else could understand him, so I made the effort. He got adopted by some do-gooders, though, a couple of years after I arrived. He promised he'd write, but I don't think his new parents wanted him to have any ties to his old life, especially not to a promising young thief. I never heard from him again. Got kicked out a couple of months later, moved on to the next joint. Maybe he just couldn't find me."

"I didn't know you grew up in foster homes," said Flynn softly.

"Not much to know," shrugged the thief. "It sucked. I survived. End of."

"What happened?" Flynn asked. "To your parents, I mean."

"Never had parents," said Ezekiel, shaking his head, his features set. "No father's name on my birth certificate. Mother vanished without a trace. Don't know if she's dead or alive."

"That explains it," nodded Flynn.

"Explains what?" Ezekiel blinked and looked round at him.

"Why you've been relentlessly attacking Stone ever since we left," explained the older man. "Every chance you get to wind him up, you take it. No wonder he keeps snapping at you."

"I don't follow," frowned the young man. "Baiting Stone is just fun. His strings are way too easy to pull!"

"So it's nothing to do with the fact that you had come to accept us as family, then he goes and whisks away your favourite member of that family, leaving you abandoned all over again?"

"What? No," Ezekiel pulled a face and shook his head.

Flynn looked at him dubiously. "You don't sound too convinced."

"I've been on my own way longer than I've been hanging around with you guys," he replied. "I don't need anyone else."

"Everyone needs someone in their corner, Ezekiel."

"I have Jenkins."

"You have the rest of us too, you know."

"You have Eve. Cassandra has Stone."

"We're a family, not a tag team."

"Yeah," Ezekiel sighed dismissively and looked up. The three men were no longer in view. "Hey, where'd they go?"

A click and the sound of well oiled hinges moving heralded the opening of the panic room door. Flynn sighed. "I guess that answers that question."

"Apparently it answers mine too," said a well spoken voice by the door. Ezekiel and Flynn turned to see the well dressed man pointing a revolver at them. Behind him, the bodyguard glowered, a hand on his own gun. The well dressed man stepped back and indicated the now open door. "If you would, please gentlemen. Hands on your head of course. No talking."

Obediently, the two Librarians preceded the other two men out of the panic room. The third man was waiting for them with a revolver of his own. He waited for the well dressed man and the bodyguard to leave the panic room and close the door, then led the way through the study door into the hallway. With gun muzzles pressed into their backs, Flynn and Ezekiel followed the third man out into the hallway, along to the far end, through a door that led to a narrow servants' staircase, up to the floor above, along a dusty, cobweb decorated corridor and into a room at the very end that betrayed the proximity of the roof with its sloping ceiling. In the centre was a figure tied to a chair with a bag over his head.

"Stone!" Ezekiel blurted out, earning him a slap on the back of the head.

"I said quiet," barked the well dressed man.

Two more chairs appeared from the outer edges of the room, which must have run at least half the width of the mansion. There was a wall dividing it, in which there was a door, but the door was closed and, no doubt, locked or useless. The third man set the chairs down in the middle of the room, but not too close to Stone. The bodyguard hustled first Ezekiel then Flynn into the chairs. They were tied securely, gagged and blindfolded with bags dropped over their faces, just like Stone. Ezekiel had, of course, removed his gag before their captors had even left the room. He peered through the tightly woven fabric, just about able to detect three shapes heading for the door. The last of the three, the bodyguard judging by his size, reached over to the wall. The room plunged into darkness.

"Hey, who turned out the lights?"

Ezekiel jumped. He turned his head in the direction of the sound. "Do not do that to Whovians!"

"What hide-behind-the-sofa monster comes out with a line like that?" Stone asked, with more than a little grin in his voice.

"It's not the monster, it's the victim," Ezekiel patiently explained. "I take it you're well then?"

"I've been better," replied Stone. "I've been worse too though."

"Not quite such a master on Houdini, I see," quipped the thief.

"Not had quite so much practise as some folks," returned Stone. "Think I could get a hand here?"

"Patience grasshopper, the master is trying to focus," intoned Ezekiel. He felt the bag plucked from his head.

"The master is done already, the apprentice is trying to focus and failing," said Flynn pointedly. "Stop sniping and start picking that lock over there." He pointed the torch light of his phone at the door in the dividing wall. "I'll take the one we came in by."

Master or apprentice, Ezekiel was soon out of his ropes and heading for the door, leaving Flynn to finish untying Stone. Working by touch and sound, he carefully clicked each of the tumblers into place. The door swung open easily and he turned, shining the light of his own phone upwards to show Flynn and Stone his ghostly grinning visage. A movement within the room beyond brought his attention back around and he shone the light into the room beyond.

"Woah!" Ezekiel exclaimed, bringing the other two men instantly to his side.

"Indeed," murmured Flynn, shining his phone torch around.

"Wow!" Stone cried, pushing past the other two and hurrying into the room. He picked up an item from a long desk that ran along one side of the room. "This is da Vinci's automaton! It could propel da Vinci's circular, wooden tank forward or wherever. That there is a model of his giant crossbow. I have no idea what this is! And that!" His eyes had fallen on a painting hanging in pride of place above the desk. "That is the Val d'Arno. Da Vinci sketched it in August fourteen seventy three. He never painted it. Or rather, no painting of it has ever been found. This is undeniably his work..."

Flynn and Ezekiel looked at Stone pause and peer closely at the picture.

"That can't be right," murmured Stone. He beckoned them over and pointed to the paint. "This is modern paint. No way these colours would have been around in da Vinci's days."

"But you said it was undeniably him?" Ezekiel wondered aloud.

"I know, and the brush strokes and technique are absolutely in keeping with those of Leonardo, but this paint is wrong."

"You just can't get the ingredients these days," said a voice from behind a japanned screen at the far end of the room. "It's amazing what you can easily achieve, however, with what you have."

The three men looked across the room. Stone exchanged a glance with Flynn and the Librarian gave Jones a nod. The young man crept forward, then edged round the side of the screen. A few minutes later, he emerged with an elderly man in tow.

"Welcome, Librarian," said the ragged figure. "I assure you, you will need my help escaping, as I will need yours.

"Who are you?" Ezekiel asked, brows creased in puzzlement.

"You can't be..." Stone breathed.

"Of course he is," sighed Flynn.

"Indeed I am, sir," replied the old man. "I was once protected by the owner of this house, now I am hounded by his grandson. I am, good sirs, master Leonardo da Vinci."


	20. For the Lost Leonardo, Chapter 5

"Leonardo da Vinci!" Jacob's voice went up about an octave. "I'm talkin' to Leonardo da Vinci! The _actual_ Leonardo da Vinci!"

"And he's off," quipped Ezekiel, sighing and leaning back against the door frame with folded arms.

"My word, sir it is an honour to meet you, I mean an _honour_ , really!" Jacob hurried forward, grabbing the old man's hand and shaking it.

"So it would appear, young man," winced da Vinci. "However if I could be left with some working fingers: it does so help when one has to hold a paintbrush or pencil. Thank you. Yes, to answer your question: it is indeed I. I am truly Leonardo da Vinci, the _actual_ Leonardo da Vinci, as you say. I am not, as you may have perceived, a hologram. Nor am I an impostor, as you have said yourself my work testifies. Nor, indeed, have I travelled through time or been magically or scientifically reincarnated, although I do believe there may be a bunch of geneticists out there who would like to try it should they ever track down my earthly remains. Given that they're standing right here and more able to object to the matter than said scientists may expect, I dare say they'll have a hard time of it."

"Excuse me, maestro, but how are you here?" Flynn interjected. "You didn't just vanish into obscurity. History records your death at the Castle of Cloux, second of May fifteen nineteen. You were buried at Amboise on the twelfth of August!"

The old man chuckled, stroking his beard and looking off into a distant past. "Yes, I did rather enjoy that little ceremony. It is not often one gets the chance to be late for one's own funeral, but it was necessary to avoid the crowds. Not that they would likely have known me. Amazing how few people realise that a talent for painting faces can apply itself to ones own as much as to a canvas."

"So you didn't die, then," summarised Ezekiel. "How?"

"You are the Librarian, I presume," said Leonardo, turning to Flynn. "Is this young man your Guardian?"

"Actually..." Jacob began, a broad grin splitting his face and lighting up his eyes.

"Actually we're all Librarians," cut in Flynn, putting a hand on Jacob's shoulder. "Bit of a change in the way things are done these days. How do you...?"

"Know about the Library?" Leonardo finished. "If you are Librarians, that should be easy enough to work out."

"Leonardo da Vinci was the greatest mind of his time," said Stone. "Of all time, arguably. If there was a vacancy in his lifetime, he was getting a letter!"

"He was a Librarian," concluded Ezekiel. "Like us."

"Well said, young man," beamed Leonardo. "Now I do believe you know decidedly more about my situation than I do of yours, and, moreover, you now know that I can be trusted."

"Forgive me maestro," said Flynn, again preventing Jacob's speech. "You may not be aware of this but not all Librarians have ended up siding with the good guys. Only two Librarians that I know of so far have walked away from the job. One to marry his true love and the other to become head of the very organisation he had been employed to fight against."

"And one to concentrate on his research," added Ezekiel.

"Oh?" Leonardo's ears pricked up and he looked over to Ezekiel, regarding him thoughtfully for a moment, then turned back to Flynn and a still gaping, grinning Jacob. "I take your point, Librarian, but, given that I already know your stations, would it hurt so much more to give me your names? Besides: if I were evil, would the Library have sent you my cry for help?"

"Your what?" Stone frowned.

"Why are you here?" Leonardo asked him patiently.

Stone held out a hand for Ezekiel's clippings book and turned it to the day's page. The articles glowed on the pages. He showed it to Leonardo. The artist nodded and turned it back, pointing out the obituary.

"I wrote that, young man," said Leonardo. "Suggest you read it closely. You may find it contains more than you expect. What is this contraption anyway?"

"It's a clippings book," Ezekiel explained as Flynn and Stone poured over the page. "It picks mysteries for us to investigate. There's the main one at the Library, then the newer Librarians have one each. Usually it picks mysteries that need our own particular skills to solve. I had wondered why it gave this one to me, not Stone there, but now I know. It's not an art heist it's an artist heist!"

"Ah! A name!" Da Vinci cried, he looked to Jacob. "So you are Mr Stone, then, and you have a predilection for art, I take it?"

"Jacob Stone, sir, art historian," grinned Jacob, attempting to shake da Vinci's hand again and missing.

"And you?" Leonardo asked the youngest of the group.

"Ezekiel Jones, World Class Thief," intoned the ex-thief. "Also proficient in computer technology, escapology, and generally being awesome."

"Modest too," quipped the old man. He turned to Flynn. "And you?"

"Flynn Carson, Senior Librarian. Student of Learning."

"One who lives through his eyes, one who lives through his hands and one who lives through his brain," da Vinci summed up. "Three Librarians and do none of you pay attention to your heart?"

"Only when it comes to their girlfriends," grinned Ezekiel. Two pairs of eyes turned and glared at him this time. He shrugged and threw out his hands.

"Librarians with lovers, my word how things have changed," sniffed Leonardo with a sly smile. "And do these lovely ladies know what you men do for a living?"

"Mine is also a Librarian," grinned Jacob. He nodded at Flynn. "His is the Guardian."

"Women do make excellent Librarians," nodded da Vinci. "I never did think much of men who assumed they were incapable of anything besides breeding and keeping house. It says more about the man than the woman stuck with him in my opinion. As for a female Guardian, well, I knew a young woman in France whom I am certain would have made an excellent guardian. She certainly knew how to handle a sword. Intelligent too, and brave as a lion. I dare say her story is still told in some way."

"You still haven't told us what _you're_ doing _here_ , though," Flynn reminded him.

"It is simple enough," shrugged the artist. "I live here. I have done so since my arrival in the new world. It seemed the logical place to abscond to after the funeral. Nobody knew my face here and fewer would have the means to communicate such a wonder back to Europe. I was thrilled when the Library followed suit, centuries later."

"If you weren't working for the Library at the time, how did you know it had moved?" Jones asked.

"I spent a long, long time working for the Library, Mr Jones," he replied. "After so many years the effects, as you see, do not leave you easily. Nor does the connection to the source of that life force. I felt it fade a year or so ago. It returned to full force just a matter of months ago. Correct?"

"Correct," Flynn nodded. "Well, I guess that settles it, although I still don't get your obituary?"

"Really, Mr Carsen? You disappoint me," said Leonardo. "What kind of code-work am I famous for?"

"Mirror writing," said Flynn, "but there isn't any... Oh, I see it now."

In the florid obituary the word "mirror" appeared four times. Looking only at what immediately followed them, Flynn read the sentence "Help me, Librarian. Da Vinci."

"Fine," said Flynn. "Let's go home. Stone, stop grinning and call Jenkins. Let's get a door."

"No signal," frowned Stone, but the frown only lasted a moment.

"Me neither," sighed Jones, waggling his phone in mid-air.

"This room is insulated both scientifically and magically," da Vinci told them. "We need to get through the door on the other side before it will let us connect to the Library."

"Okay, fine then," said Ezekiel, nonplussed as always. "I'll just go pick that lock."

The other three men watched him go. Eventually Leonardo spoke up. "That young man challenges my inner calm."

"He challenges everyone's everything!" Stone growled.

"Got it!" Jones shouted through.

They all trooped through to the first room. Ezekiel had swung the door open and the sound of far off voices drummed through to their ears.

"Guess it is my mission after all," he grinned, ducking out through the door in time for Stone's swipe to miss him.

The gentlemen returned to the Library in safety and good fellowship, leading Leonardo into the office that, he proclaimed, had barely changed since his day. He picked up the small globe and threw it up in the air. It hung there, projecting the ley lines as always. Stone looked downcast.

"It just takes practise, time and a lot of contact with magic," breezed da Vinci. 

The globe dropped obediently into da Vinci's palm. Three faces appeared at the mezzanine balustrade. Baird and Cassandra hurried down to greet their respective beaux and Ezekiel. Jenkins stayed where he was.

"What name do you go by now, my gentle, perfect friend?" Leonardo asked, looking up.

"Jenkins," replied the caretaker. "And there's a lot more than that you'll have to get caught up on!"

"Mr Carsen has offered to do just that," smiled the old master. "Indeed, I feel we should go do so right away. I would hate to get under your feet. It is much more crowded here than it was."

"Where were you?" Jenkins persisted. "He never told me."

"I asked him to tell no-one," shrugged Leonardo. "I was here, with my friend and protector. When he died I remained with his house and his son. Now the current son wants me dead like his father. I must find myself a new hiding place."

"The Library will make you a room if you ask it to," said Jenkins. "If you must disappear again, at least try to keep in touch this time."

"I did," da Vinci protested. "Merely not with yourself."

"Mr Jones, kindly show the maestro to the kitchen. He always looks famished. I am sure Mr Carsen will join him there presently," intoned Jenkins coldly, before turning away and disappearing into the shelves.

Without comment or argument, Ezekiel led the great Leonardo da Vinci out of the office and down the hall.

"Did you have a nice time, my darling," Flynn asked Eve. "Flowers chosen, dress bought, invitations sent?"

"You're helping me with the invitations, Flynn Carsen," she told him. "It's your wedding too."

"But you had fun terrorising Jenkins with your girly planning, organising and reorganising, yes?"

"More or less," Eve admitted. "One or two big surprises, but nothing we couldn't handle."

Unable to contain his excitement any longer, Jacob turned to Cassandra, eyes wide, smile beaming and finger pointing at the empty hallway.

"I just met Leonardo da Vinci," he whispered. "The _actual_ Leonardo da Vinci!"


	21. For the Dress, Chapter 1

"Who stole his scone?" Baird asked, frowning as she looked over her shoulder at Ezekiel's receding back.

"I think he's a little upset with me," sighed Cassandra. "I'll make it up to him another time."

"Why?" Baird looked round to her with a puzzled frown. "What did you do?"

"Oh, he got a case and asked me to go with him," she replied. "I told him Jacob would be more useful that me. It looked like an art thing. Another auction."

"You sent him to Stone?" Eve's shoulders sank slightly. "Right now?"

Cassandra clapped a hand to her mouth. "Oh no, you just left Flynn with him, didn't you! I'm so sorry, I forgot!"

"It's fine," Eve waved a hand dismissively. "I'm sure, between Flynn and Stone, the pair of them will sort it out before the day goes on too long."

"Might put Ezekiel's nose out of joint a little," winced Cassandra. "He's hiding it well, but I know he misses us. I just thought if he and Jacob could take a case together it might... I don't know: build a few bridges?"

"Or burn them!" Baird laughed. "Besides: you just sent Jones through there to steal Stone away on a case sure to be filled with lots of fun and interesting auction goodies my dearly beloved would just love to meet, while I sent him through there with the idea in his head that he doesn't come back until he's asked Stone to be Best Man. I bet you ten bucks he inveigles his way into their mission."

"Make it two," smiled Cassandra. "I wouldn't be surprised."

"At least if he did it might stop Stone throttling Jones before the day is out," mused Baird.

"They're not that bad," laughed Cassandra.

"Really?" Baird replied. "They have worked without us once. According to Flynn, the only reason they didn't reach boiling point that time is because Stone bet Jones he couldn't, and I quote, 'make a plan worth a dime'. Jones accepted the challenge, set the terms and away they went: Stone would happily do whatever Jones told him to, mission-wise, because he was expecting it to fail. They'll be worse this time: One will want to be in charge because the auction stuff will be in his area, the other because it turned up in his book and Flynn won't be able to try the bet trick because it's already been done!"

"They are all grown men," retorted Cassandra. "Surely they have the maturity to work sensibly together for the good of the case?"

"We are talking about the same three men, right?" Eve raised an eyebrow. She checked them off on her fingers. "The thief who antagonises every figure of authority he meets, deliberately. The most adorable nerd on earth who has about as much command over his limbs as a drunken giraffe sometimes. The guy with a brain the size of a planet and a patience for idiotic comments from Jones that you'd need the Hubble telescope to find, and Jones knows it!"

Cassandra opened her mouth, paused, then let her mouth curl up into a sly smile. "Okay, tell you what," she said, arranging the dishtowel she had been using over its rail and putting the last of the breakfast dishes away. "Last time they were the ones making the bets. This time, why don't we make a few of our own. I'll write down my predictions on one piece of paper. You write down yours on another. Then we'll combine them and decide on bets. What do you think?"

"That could be fun," admitted Eve. "And while the boys are away, being brave, grown up, manly heroes..."

"And screaming at spiders..."

Eve looked round with a questioning look. Cassandra smirked and nodded.

"How is that scarier than a minotaur?" Eve asked incredulously.

Cassandra shrugged and smiled, barely suppressing laughter.

"Anyway, while they're gone, you and I can get down to some serious wedding planning," finished Eve. "Finally!"

"What have you still got to do?" Cassandra asked, retrieving her notepad.

"Oh, everything!" Eve exclaimed. "I can't even pin himself through there down to a month, let alone an actual date!"

"Did I hear myself mentioned," asked Flynn, sticking his head into the kitchen. "I'm just popping out to help Ezekiel and Stone with a case, my love. Won't be long."

"Did you ask him yet?" Eve replied, folding her arms and watching him carefully.

"I most certainly did, as I said I would," the Librarian replied. "And of course he acquiesced to my request."

"Excellent work, Librarian," smiled Eve, walking over and giving him a peck on the cheek.

"I couldn't have done it without you, Guardian," he replied, ducking back out of view and hurrying away. As his footsteps receded Eve heard him add "Apparently!"

"So much for not telling him I'd already asked!" Eve scoffed.

"He's Flynn, he notices stuff," shrugged Cassandra with a smile. "Jacob probably ran out of patience and 'guessed' what he was trying to say and Flynn actually guessed you'd beat him to it. If he asked him directly, Jacob wouldn't be able to lie to him. Not convincingly."

"Is that another prediction for the notepads?" Eve grinned.

"You think I'm wrong?" Cassandra laughed back.

Eve considered this. "Actually, no," she decided. "I think you're probably spot on, barring Ezekiel throwing a spanner in the works."

"Okay, so we agree on that one," Cassandra opened her notebook and tore two pages from it. She handed one to Eve. "Go write down yours. I'll do mine. By the time we're done, the office will be clear for us to take over the desk the three of us use. We can move the boys' stuff over to the central desk if we need to. There should be room enough for Jacob and Ezekiel there, and Flynn can use the desk you share with him, if they're back before we're done."

"Won't the Library just reset it?" Eve frowned.

"Not if we ask it nicely, maybe," suggested Cassandra. "I mean, it does like you now, and it's never had an issue with me. Not even when we moved the mirror out of it's corner to do that spell. Which is weird, because, you know, if the Library was going to have an issue with anyone, you'd think it would be with me."

"You did what you did because you were scared and you didn't know any better," said Eve soothingly. "When you did, you helped us. You saved Flynn's life. I wouldn't underestimate just how much the Library knows about that."

"Then why take against you: you've saved Flynn and the rest of us loads of times!"

"Er, well, that might be something to do with the fact that my intended has, shall we say, a bit of a 'type'," Eve smiled. "And since those partners hurt him, I think now that the Library was just being a little overprotective of him."

"Like Cal when you first met," nodded Cassandra. "I guess so."

Eve waved her piece of paper and nodded to the door. "I'll go grab a pen. Come join me when you're done and we'll see who knows her man better."

Cassandra laughed aloud. "Hah! Don't forget we have Ezekiel Jones to include in this too, and if ever there were, or will be, a Librarian famed for being unpredictable..."

She let the sentence hang, still laughing quietly to herself as Eve's back receded, then turned and began her list. Ten minutes later she joined Eve in the office. The long desk in the corner beside the door, on the other side from Eve and Flynn's, was now empty but for a pile of magazines, some paper and pencils.

"Show me what you've got," said Eve, looking up as the redhead approached. She took the list Cassandra proffered her and set it down beside her own, moving them away from her and drawing a blank sheet of paper into the gap. She picked up a pencil and began checking things off. "These ones all match."

Cassandra pulled up a chair beside her. "So what have we got that doesn't?"

"Well," said the Guardian, "apparently you have much more faith in their abilities than I do. You think they'll last until they're trying to get home before they run into trouble. When have we ever got that far before trouble turns up?"

"We have lately," Cassandra shrugged. "Jacob and I had no interference at all in France. What about you and Flynn in Egypt?"

"True, but they do have Jones with them and he brought trouble last time they worked together," she reminded the younger woman.

"The trouble was there waiting for them: the tomb was guarded!" Cassandra protested.

"Okay, so who was the last person in our little family to run into trouble?" Eve turned a triumphant gaze on the redhead, who sighed and held up her hands in defeat.

"What makes you think they're going to split up?" Cassandra asked, pointing to the next one on the list.

"Flynn," replied Eve pointedly. "Jones is going to start trying to wind Stone up. Stone is going to let the kid wind him up. Flynn's going to split them up."

"Okay, well if they do split up, I think it's much more likely one or more of them will run into trouble," decided Cassandra. "We always run into more trouble when we don't stick together."

"Nah, that's backwards," said Eve, shaking her head. "When there's more trouble we have to split up to deal with it."

"Then I bet that if they split up, it'll be before they hit trouble," smiled Cassandra. "I take it you bet the opposite?"

"Deal!" Eve added the information to the list. "Ten to one trouble hits first?"

"Done!" Cassandra held out her hand.

"Hey, look at this!" Eve pointed down to the line below where she had added the odds. New words were forming in the Library's elegant cursive script.

"Mr Stone will attempt to punch somebody," read Cassandra thoughtfully. "Five to one, odds on."

"I guess we're not the only ones who feel like having a little fun today," laughed Eve.

"I'll take that bet," grinned Cassandra, looking up at the ceiling. "He may be in your bad books, no pun intended, but he's not in mine and I have a little more faith in him."

"What if somebody attacks him?" Eve asked with a smile.

"Ah, well that's different," admitted Cassandra. "I bet he won't unless he's attacked though."

"Okay," Eve moved to add the data, but found the Library had already done so. She looked at the next on the list. "Jacob Stone will out-geek Flynn Carsen. Oh, honey, you know I'm taking that bet! At any odds!"

"Pre-wedding spa day for both of us: loser pays," smirked Cassandra.

"I can live with that," smiled Eve.

"Since it came up in Ezekiel's book, I put down that I think he'll have to steal something," continued Cassandra, scanning her list for the line. "It's here somewhere."

"We both had it I scratched it out," Eve told her. "Here's one: Flynn will keep reminding them of his intelligence and degrees ad nauseum."

"Was that from the Library?" Cassandra frowned. "I don't remember writing it."

"No, that one was from me," sighed Eve. "I love him dearly, but every man has his flaws."

"Well, if we're going down that route, I guess if Jacob does punch anyone without being attacked, it's almost certainly going to be Ezekiel," Cassandra admitted. "I kinda hoped this would help them work together better though."

"The Library has another," announced Eve. "The Librarians will meet a familiar face."

"Ten to one, odds on," finished Cassandra with a slight frown and a question in her voice. She looked up at the ceiling again. "Hey now: no cheating. If you know something more about this case, you should have let them know: they're your Librarians."

"Ooh! You've got an answer!" Eve exclaimed, watching words form on the page with wide eyes. "Merely a balance of probabilities."

"Even odds," admitted Cassandra. "Okay, I'll take that bet."

"I'm not entirely sure I condone gambling," murmured Jenkins, peering over the ladies' shoulders at the sheet of paper on the desk. "Especially not in the Library."

"The Library disagrees," giggled Cassandra, pointing to a line of neat text halfway down the page. "We didn't even think about that one!"

"Hmm," frowned Jenkins, no longer sure who was teaching whom bad habits. He looked down the list. "I find it highly unlikely that Mr Stone will lose his composure to such an extent that he will visit physical violence upon the person of Mr Jones."

"When was the last time _you_ tried working with just the two of them?" Cassandra asked him, frankly.

"Although I do think he's less likely to punch him if Flynn's there," consoled Eve.

"As opposed to you or me?" Cassandra raised an eyebrow.

"Heck no!" Eve laughed. "As opposed to nobody!"

"Do all women have such a deprecating view of their male partners?"

"Only the sensible ones," quipped Eve.

"That's quite a long list," Jenkins continued. "What makes you think you've got them all right?"

"We pay attention," chorused the girls.


	22. For the Dress, Chapter 2

"We need to start a list," announced Cassandra.

Eve looked up at her in confusion. "I thought that's what we were doing?"

"No, not of the bets, silly, of the wedding stuff!" Cassandra enthused. "You're nearly done there. Why don't I start a list of all the things we still need to do for the wedding."

"You can start with choosing a date!" Eve quipped.

"Okay, I'll make two lists," she decided. "One for things you need to do with Flynn, one for things we can do together."

"All Flynn and I _have_ to do together," said Eve, "is choose a date, choose a venue for the wedding and one for the reception, choose the rings, and agree on the guest list, although I don't think he'd be overly distraught if I left him out of any or all of those, sometimes!"

"What about the cake? The food? The flowers?" Cassandra asked.

"Chocolate for the cake and he really doesn't care what I choose for the rest."

"Honeymoon destination?"

"His job."

"Vows?"

"Each writing our own."

"Colour theme?"

"I choose, I tell him," shrugged Eve. "Same goes for everything else."

"Okay," the younger woman nodded and drew a line under her list, then turned the page. "So what do you still have to do yourself?"

"Well, I still need to do most things," replied Eve, finished the last of the bets and showing the paper to Cassandra, who looked it over and nodded agreement. "I can't really choose the food until we have a venue, obviously, but the favours and the stationary can be sorted out before that. The flowers and decor ought to match between venues and we'll probably want the cake decoration to tie in with that. Nothing too fancy though. If I choose a dress with a colour in it, we could maybe reflect that in the flowers and decor..."

"You don't have a dress yet?" Cassandra's eyes went wide in alarm.

"Cassandra, it's only been a couple of months we haven't even set a date yet!"

"I know, but, but, it's the dress! Everything else revolves around it! The hair, the make-up, the bridesmaids dresses and hair and make-up, the flowers, the decorating, the cake..."

"Please tell me you are not one of these women who has been planning their own wedding since kindergarten," begged Eve.

"Me? No," scoffed Cassandra. "It wasn't really discussed in my childhood, then when the tumour turned up there was no point."

"There is now," Eve reminded her.

"I'm still getting used to there being a 'now' for me," smiled the redhead. "It's a little early to be looking that far ahead."

"He's your true love. You did a spell," Eve told her. "He saved your life with fairy tale magic. If anybody's going to get their 'happily ever after', it's going to be you two."

"You don't have to be married to live happily ever after," shrugged Cassandra. "Not these days. My parents only bothered getting married for the legal side of things."

"Does Stone know you feel that way?" Eve asked, tilting her head in thought.

"I haven't decided what I feel yet," Cassandra shrugged again, receding slightly from the conversation. "If he asks about it, I'll tell him that. He won't though. Not for a while."

"How do you know that?"

"It's come up in conversation," said the younger woman, waving her hands evasively as she spoke. "Come on, let's look at dresses."

Eve took the hint and passed over one of the magazines, setting it between them. Cassandra brought out from somewhere a pack of sticky tags for pages of interest, stuck one of each colour to her notebook next to items listed there as a key, and moved up closer to Eve to look through the pages together.

After what felt like several hours of loud laughter and raucous giggling, but was probably nearer two, Jenkins made his presence on the mezzanine known.

"Ladies, I realise weddings are meant to be joyous occasions," called down the caretaker, "but if we _could_ save some good cheer for the actual day, my research and I would _greatly_ appreciate it."

"Sorry Mr Jenkins," chorused the two women, in the singsong tones of schoolchildren, who are never really sorry at all when they say it.

"What on earth is so amusing about wedding magazines anyway?" Jenkins wondered aloud.

"Well we could explain," offered Eve innocently.

"But we're sure you really don't want to know," finished Cassandra, bursting into another fit of giggles.

Jenkins glared at them, then realised they were too lost in hysteria to notice and shook his head with a sigh. "Maids are May when they are maids," he muttered, and gave up.

"Should I choose roses or carnations for my bouquet, Jenkins?" Eve called up.

"Embossed card or watermarked paper for the invitation?" Cassandra rejoined.

Jenkins waved a dismissive hand at them and slunk away.

"Ooh, I like that one!" Cassandra exclaimed in delight, turning a page and pointing out a pale pink princess style dress with puffy sleeves and skirt and a buttoned up bodice.

"Reminds me of Little Bo Peep!" Eve exclaimed in disgust. "Simple! I said simple! And you do know wedding dresses are traditionally some kind of variation of white, right?"

"Okay, not pink, simple, more traditional, got it," said Cassandra. "But the bodice is nice, isn't it?"

"Not practical," Eve shook her head. "All those tiny buttons side by side like that would be too difficult to undo."

"I've seen you pull off far more delicate tasks than undoing fiddly buttons," said Cassandra, pulling a face.

"I wasn't thinking of me," smirked Eve, and both girls descended into giggles again.

"Okay, no tiny buttons, noted," laughed Cassandra, turning the page again. They moved on to another section of the magazine. "We can't really choose anything else until we pick the dress, can we?"

"We can look at the stationary section," suggested Eve. "Plain and simple should be fine, on ivory paper or card, I think."

"You're thinking about ivory for the dress then?" Cassandra asked, turning to the stationary section.

"Mmm," replied Eve, thinking back to the painted reliefs that had adorned the walls of the tombs and temples she had visited when last in Egypt. "Ivory, maybe in satin. Something with long, simple lines that suits my shape. Finding the stationary should be easier though."

"Well, why don't _you_ look for stationary, then, and _I'll_ narrow down a short list of dresses that match that description," suggested Cassandra. "I could use Ezekiel's laptop. I'm sure he won't mind."

Another hour ticked by. From the mezzanine above, Jenkins relished in the silence of concentration that had descended, broken only every now and then by a muttered 'look at this' or 'what about that'. He was only vaguely aware that the muttering had continued this time, and was getting gradually less and less decipherable. It had taken on that hushed tone of a shared confidence, and he had endeavoured not to attempt to listen, when the quiet was broken by a shriek of laughter from Cassandra. Jenkins winced, nearly dropping the book he was holding. His own concentration broken, he decided on a soothing cup, or maybe pot, of tea. He marked his place in the book and laid it down on the reading desk. He braved the stairs.

They were still giggling when he reached the ground floor, so he wandered over and peered over their shoulders to sneak a glance at whatever frilly monstrosity had amused them now. He stepped back immediately and attempted to leave unnoticed. He failed.

"Why Jenkins, I do believe you're blushing," called Eve, her voice full of laughter.

"Ahem," Jenkins straightened his bow tie and attempted to regain his composure. "I do not see why items such as those are required in a Bridal magazine." 

"Any dress is only as good as it's foundation garments," Cassandra teased.

"Especially wedding dresses," added Eve with a grin.

"One does not make a habit of following the fashions in ladies undergarments," sniffed the old man with his nose in the air. He hurried out of the room, followed by two peals of laughter from the women.

By the time Jenkins returned with the tea, the two ladies were pouring over a pile of magazines with sticky tabs hanging out of them. More dresses evidently. The giggling had subsided, but a turn of the page and a whispered comment from Cassandra this time set Eve off again. The phone rang.

With neither woman moving a muscle to answer it, Jenkins put down the tea pot and reached out a hand himself. At least, he thought, sighing with resignation, it was unlikely to be another giggling girl on the other end of the line.

"Hello, gentlemen, how can I help you?"

"Jenkins?" Stone's voice sounded worried. "You sound cheerful. You never sound cheerful."

"Thank you for that thrilling episode of psychoanalysis," threw back the older man, his voice dripping sarcasm.

"We need you to look out those books you found before on the mystery houses," Stone continued, more confidently now that the status quo had been resumed. "We need to know if any of them are, or can appear to be, big old mansion houses."

"How big, exactly?" Jenkins' brow furrowed.

"Well, the hall they've got the auction lots in looks like some kind of Disney ballroom," replied Stone.

"That's big," mused Jenkins. "I'll see what I can find out, but I find it highly unlikely."

"Is that Flynn?" Eve called over, both ladies having now taken note of the telephone conversation.

As Jenkins nodded a reply, he noticed Cassandra hunting about on the desk. She came up holding a piece of paper and waved it at Eve. The Guardian seemed to remember something and they hurried over, pointing at it.

"I am being reminded to ask you how things are going," Jenkins intoned, fully comprehending what was about to come next.

"Other than the fact we have found precisely squat and the thief seems to think he's in charge," responded Stone, "we're good."

Cassandra wordlessly waved the paper in front of Jenkins eyes while Stone's voice buzzed through the line. He caught it from her hand and looked down the list.

"I do hope he hasn't annoyed you too much," Jenkins continued to recite in dreary monotone. "I would hate to have to start patching him up again."

"Oh, he's still in one piece, no bruises," Stone assured him. "So far."

Jenkins pulled a face at Cassandra, who looked as though she was trying to make her eyes inflate. "And Mr Carson isn't being too irritatingly intelligent?" 

"No," Stone was starting to sound curious now. "He had to remind us about his photographic memory, but it's just as well he did: we needed it."

Jenkins handed the list back to Cassandra, shaking his head. 

"Good, good," he said, batting away the list of questions as Cassandra tried to point out others. "I will call you as and when I know more."

He hung up and turned to a Cassandra whose face was bright red with the effort of holding in laughter. "Any more of those and they would have worked out something was going on," he told her, indicating the questions on the sheet. "As it is, Mr Jones remains unbruised and Mr Carson has only reminded them of his intelligence, in the form of his eidetic memory, once. I have no interest to know which bets that wins or for whom, just as I have no interest in bridal bouquets or invitations stationary. I shall try to find out more when I call them back, but in order to do that, I must first find the information they require. Do excuse me."

Without any further ado, he extricated himself from the hive of girliness and, tea-tray in hand, beat a hasty retreat up to the mezzanine.


	23. For the Dress, Chapter 3

Eve slumped back in her chair. "This is hopeless: there's nothing there!"

"It's just a few magazines," Cassandra replied. "We should go look at some actual dresses in some actual dress shops before we even start to worry."

"I've been round the Portland ones already: there's nothing," shrugged Eve.

"Then we'll try the not-Portland ones," smiled Cassandra. She stood up and walked over to the stairs. "Mr Jenkins, can we use the door please?"

"You have a case?" Jenkins called back, appearing at the balcony.

Cassandra shook her head and batted her eyes. "Please?"

"You want to use a wormhole to go dress shopping," sighed the old man. "Of course you do. Have we all forgotten about public transport?"

"I was thinking about Paris," suggested Cassandra.

"Let's just start with New York," cut in Eve, hurrying to her Maid of Honour's side. "My French is limited to things like 'don't move, NATO Counter Terrorism Unit' and 'we have the building surrounded, come out with your hands on your heads'. If we don't get anywhere over here, we can always try London or Milan: my Italian is much better."

"New York it is then," agreed Cassandra. Both women turned big eyes and bright smiles on Jenkins.

"Ugh," he sighed. "Fine, go. Just remember I might have to switch it back to the auction house for the gentlemen. If I do I'll need a marker or an easy link to find you."

"Thank you Jenkins!" Eve called up as Cassandra set the globe with a magazine advertisement and Jenkins returned to his books.

They walked out of the library and into Bloomingdale's Wedding section. Eve stopped short, as did most of the dresses. "When did it become fashionable to wear a wedding dress that didn't reach your knees?"

"I'd consider it," said Cassandra. "If I was planning on getting married."

"You need to have that conversation, you know," Eve told her seriously. "Besides," she added, brightening, "I've never seen you wear anything below the knee, I think!"

"I have a few dresses that get that long," replied Cassandra with a smile. "And I will talk to him about it. Just, not yet."

"I should probably say now," said Eve, "I don't mind what length dress you wear to this."

"You will have full veto powers on anything I choose," Cassandra assured her. "It's your wedding. What about this: it's a Vera Wang."

"Too lacy," Eve shook her head.

"The Aidan Mattox one?"

"Too shiny."

"The Shelli Segal one?"

"Hmm," Eve considered the V-necked, pleated skirted gown carefully. "I like the wrap-around binding stuff under the bust, and I like the neckline and back, but I don't like the skirt or the material."

"The Sue Wong one?"

"Ooh, no: spaghetti straps! Avoid at all costs!"

They continued this way for the ten minutes or so it took to browse the whole collection, until finally Eve gave up and dragged Cassandra, now starting to pick out gradually worsening designs, out of the store. They found themselves on Broadway.

"Okay, it's a no for Bloomingdale's," the redhead giggled when Eve finally released her wrist. "I get it!"

"Why did you pick Bloomingdale's as a starting point in the first place?" Eve asked her, bemused.

"I lived in New York for years. I've never been," she shrugged.

"Seriously?" Eve's eyebrows rose. "There are heaven knows how many bridal boutiques in New York and you dragged me in there to be a tourist?"

Cassandra shrugged sheepishly. "I brought the magazine with the New York map: we can work our way outward from here."

"Fine!" Eve sighed. "What's closest?"

An hour or so, and five bridal boutiques, later, Cassandra and Eve were in a cab heading to a small shop that one of the last boutique's assistants had recommended. It was situated down a little street in Tribeca, and the assistant had suggested Eve describe what she wanted to the owner. The girls walked into the small shop and were instantly surrounded by lace, silk, satin, chiffon and all the other usual fabrics, some glinting with diamante details or shimmering sequins, others adorned with the glowing lustre of pearls. Cassandra was already neck deep in rails of dresses when the owner appeared from a back room. She was a tall woman, even against Eve, but she seemed pleasant enough.

Eve described the type of dress she was looking for and the owner, who had now introduced herself as Trudi, seemed to feel she could come up with something suitable. She brought out a series of dresses from the racks that matched the general description Eve had given, but never seemed quite right.

"Shoulders, but no sleeves," said Eve, handing her back the latest attempt. "No spaghetti straps either."

"Will you be wearing a veil?" Trudi asked, scribbling alterations on a sketch pad. She had a slight accent that came through as clipped syllables and over-perfect vowels.

"I'd rather not," Eve replied hesitantly. "I'd like something floaty about it though."

"Train?" Trudi continued without looking up.

"Gets in the way," Eve shook her head. "It needs to be practical."

"Please tell me you are not trying to fit your wedding dress around your job!" Cassandra exclaimed.

"Job?" Trudi looked up this time.

"It's not exactly nine to five, Cassandra," Eve reminded her with a pointed glare. "I don't get time off."

"What do you do?" Trudi asked, looking from one woman to the other.

"Security," said Cassandra.

"Bodyguard," said Eve at the same time.

Trudi looked from one to the other again.

"I'm her personal bodyguard and head of security," Eve clarified, glaring at Cassandra again.

"You are famous?" Trudi asked Cassandra.

"Not if I'm doing my job right," replied Eve, through gritted teeth.

"What she means is," said Cassandra, "I'm not famous, but I am... vulnerable."

"I need something that won't get in my way if some uninvited guests decide to crash the wedding," explained Eve, changing the subject back to the matter in hand. "Floor length in the right heels is fine, but no trains, no tight fittings. I need something I can move in. Maybe a slit up the side, even. Something I could kick a guy in the head in and not fall over. She'll be needing something similar as Maid of Honour, just in case she needs to run. She can't do long skirts though."

"Also I tend to aim a little lower too," Cassandra added.

Eve and Trudi both looked at her.

"I just meant I can't kick that high!" Cassandra exclaimed, turning bright red.

"Satin is no good, not for something like that," said Trudi, still scribbling. "You would be better with silk. Perhaps with some chiffon underneath to make it more elegant where we slit it, yes? Something like this?"

The designer passed the sketch pad to Eve and Cassandra. They took it and looked down. Eve drew in a long breath.

"You like it?" Trudi asked.

"That's me," breathed Eve. "That's my figure, my proportions, how did you...?"

"I design clothes," smiled Trudi with a slight shrug. "I have to know what they will look like on the person I am designing them for. For you, it is easy. You have a classical grace. Very Grecian, very poised. You will suit these lines. We modify to suit your needs, we add some final touches to make it special..."

"It's perfect," smiled Eve. "How long..."

"A while, I must check my supplies on some items first, for the details," replied Trudi. "Wait here a moment, please."

"Of course," Eve nodded.

The designer disappeared into a back room, and Cassandra automatically began browsing again, this time on the bridesmaids racks. She held up a long bright yellow dress with a blue satin waistband and matching neckline that crossed straight from one upper arm to the other, but for a curved dip that came to a point in the centre of it, and gradually fading shades of blue ruffles kicking up one side into a flamenco style.

Eve's eyes widened. "Veto!"

"But the ruffles!" Cassandra pouted.

"But the colours!" Eve pointed out. "Put it back!"

"Humph," Cassandra replaced the dress on the rail. Her hand was about to remove another when a loud noise made both women turn and look at the door Trudi had disappeared through. It had sounded like a crash, mixed with a snarl.

"Stay here," Baird told Cassandra. The younger woman nodded and watched as the Colonel moved towards and through the door.

"Trudi?" Colonel Baird called. The room beyond was dark. She felt for a light switch, found one, found it didn't work and switched on the torch on her phone. She appeared to be in a cave. "Cassandra!"

"What?" Cassandra replied breathlessly, although not quite enough to convince the Guardian she'd just run all the way over from the other side of the previous room. "Oh my."

"This remind you of anything?" Baird asked her casually.

"Einstein-Rosen bridge," said the Librarian. "This shouldn't be here. We've walked through a wormhole."

"Which is interesting, because you usually can't hear me too well on the other side of the back door, even when it's open," mused Baird.

"Very interesting," Cassandra agreed, all innocence.

"Hmm," retorted Baird. "So where's our dress designer?"

A muffled yell reached their ears. Silently, Baird pointed in the direction of the noise and beckoned for Cassandra to follow her closely. They were halfway across the open space of the cavern when Cassandra's phone began to buzz. Baird looked at her. Cassandra showed the Guardian her screen. It showed a picture of Stone, taken recently by the look of things. He was smiling for one. Eyes rolling, the Colonel dragged them both behind a drawing desk. She motioned for Cassandra to answer it, but quietly and quickly.

"Hey, Cassie, you'll never guess what I just found," said Jacob as soon as the phone answered.

"That's great, sweetie, but we're a teensy bit busy here right now," Cassandra whispered back.

"Seriously? You're pickin' out weddin' stuff and you ain't got time to look at a photo?"

"Fine," she muttered. She flicked through the options on her phone and brought up the photograph he had sent. When she saw it, her voice rose enough for Baird to nudge her to be quiet. "Oh, Hetzel cover Jules Vernes, how odd. Although that looks a pretty big library. I guess there would be bound to be something we've come across already in there."

"I know, I just saw it and it made me think of you is all," said the voice on the other end of the phone.

"Aw, that's sweet," replied Cassandra quietly. "How are you getting on with Flynn and Ezekiel this time round?"

"They're just checking out something else right now," he replied.

Somewhere on the other side of the cave, something sent piles of fabrics crashing to the ground.

"What was that?" Jacob asked, instantly sounding worried.

"Nothing, nothing," she hissed back. "No, Eve just knocked a pile of magazines over. Nothing to worry about. Have fun."

She hung up, clicked the phone off and replaced it in her purse, then looked at Baird and shrugged. Well it _might_ have been important. Baird rolled her eyes at her and glanced round the desk at the source of the noise.

A hand the size of a car tyre reached out and pulled the desk away.


	24. For the Dress, Chapter 4

The desk went tumbling across the room, revealing the glint of saucer sized eyes in a huge face. Cassandra screamed. Baird threw a nearby waste paper bin. It bounced off the great forehead, showering the face in scrunched up paper and providing enough cover for the Guardian to grab Cassandra and run. They made it to the other side of the cavern, but now the creature was between them and the door. There was a dark opening at their backs. Baird flicked on the torch on her phone again and shone the light across. Better to know what you're fighting before you decide whether to fight or run.

She took in the enormous form rising from the scattered paper. "Run!"

Cassandra didn't need telling twice. She was already turned and moving by the time she felt the Colonel reach out to drag her onward into the darkness.

"You have got to be kidding me!" Baird exclaimed, dragging Cassandra down a smaller side tunnel, round a corner and into a niche in the wall. She shut off the light and leant back, breathing deeply. "I can't even buy my own damn wedding dress without magic, mayhem and monsters turning up? Don't I even get _some_ warning?"

"I swear: there's nothing in here," Cassandra muttered flicking through her clippings book under the shaded light of her own telephone torch. "It would have glowed or..."

"Don't worry about it," Baird cut in. "We've been in worse spots than this."

"Eve," said Cassandra slowly. "We just walked through a wormhole to who knows where and got first attacked, then chased, by a Real. Live. Giant."

"It could be worse," whispered Baird. "It could be two giants."

"It already is."

Both women jumped and Cassandra shone her torch up into the face of the shop owner slash dress designer they had hurried to check on.

"Trudi?" Baird frowned. "Why aren't you screaming and panicking like most normal people do?"

"You're not a normal person, are you," Cassandra gasped. "You're a giant too. Giantess. Whatever the term is. You're wearing an avatar, like Mr Drake and the people who showed up for that conclave Ezekiel chaired. You are, aren't you?"

In the odd shadows cast by Cassandra's torch, they watched the tall woman nod. "I am a giant," she replied. "The form I wear is not my true one. But you have nothing to fear from me. I will not harm you. Nor will my brother if you do not get in his way. It is me he wants. But I know this. You do not. Why are you not panicking?"

"Librarian," Baird replied, pointing at Cassandra. She pointed at herself. "Guardian."

Trudi's face became a mixture of apprehension and relief, then she nodded.

"What does your brother want with you?" Cassandra queried.

"He wants me to return to Jotunheim with him," replied the designer. "I am promised to a powerful friend of his. He has been searching for me for years."

"Promised to, as in engaged to be married to?" Baird clarified.

"Yes."

"And you don't want to be?" Baird persisted.

"No."

"Why does he get a say in this?" Cassandra frowned. "It's up to you who you marry, surely?"

"Not where I am from," Trudi told her. "Where I am from, females are traded for power, money or belongings. It does not matter if they love or loath their new husbands, or if their heart is already claimed by another."

"And yours is, isn't it," stated Baird.

"I had the audacity to fall in love," nodded Trudi. "But to add insult to injury, I compounded the fault by falling for someone wholly unsuitable. Someone not of my race or clan."

"Where we come from there's a word for that kind of attitude," murmured Baird softly.

"Where you come from, what you call a race is still part of your own biological species. Our distinctions are rather more clear cut than that," Trudi smiled wanly. "By different race, I mean entirely different species."

Baird paused. "What? Like Leprechauns?"

"The land I am from, it is not part of your world," explained the designer. "It is connected to it, though, along with seven other worlds. We are now in one of those worlds. It is the world in which the man I wish to marry resides. This tunnel, the cave you entered when you walked through my door, all of it is a part of my home. The home I have made with the man I love."

"He's not human then," said Cassandra. "What species is he?"

"Where is he?" Baird cut in before Trudi could answer. "Shouldn't he be warned about this? Is there somewhere you can go? A safe house you can meet in?"

"He is, or he ought to be, at his place of work right now," said Trudi, still keeping her voice low. "We do not have the electrical telephones here that exist in your world: magic is far too strong here for technology to work. This was our 'safe house', as you call it, and I have no way of sending a message to him to warn him. My brother is not unintelligent: he will be watching for any such signal. He may even have found my love."

"Okay," mused Baird. "So what do we have? Can your brother change shape as you can?"

"He can," nodded Trudi, "but the magic takes practise. He cannot hold it for long yet. He will not risk this tunnel unless he knows he can catch us quickly."

"And what are his weaknesses?" Baird continued. "How do we take him out?"

"He can be knocked out, like any man, but it will take much more force," replied Trudi, slowly. "Please do not shoot him. A bullet will only damage him if it hits in the right place, and if it does it will kill him. If it does not, it will ricochet and likely kill someone else."

"No guns, noted."

"Magic can affect him," she continued, "but as before it will require much more force to have that effect. Are either of you versed in magic?"

"I'm a quick study," Cassandra raised a hand. "And I've used magic before, in my world."

"An occupational hazard, I may imagine?" Trudi asked, looking hopefully at Cassandra.

"Not as often as I'd like," the Librarian nodded.

"How do we get out of here?" Baird broke in, determined to make a plan.

"I can take you through the tunnels," nodded Trudi. "We made them narrow so that he couldn't be in them for long without returning to his natural shape and becoming stuck."

"So lead the way," said Baird, waving a hand at the tunnel. "Left or right?"

Trudi led them left down a tunnel so dark the ladies were glad the walls were so nearby to hang on to. They turned this way and that, sometimes at bends, sometimes at junctions. It reminded Colonel Baird of the labyrinth. She looked over at Cassandra.

"How are you feeling?" Baird asked solemnly.

"Little shaken, but I'll get over it," replied Cassandra honestly. "No labyrinth type headaches. No headaches at all, actually. Not since..."

"Are you keeping a mental map then?" Baird persisted.

"Only if you'll stop distracting me," retorted Cassandra.

They moved out into a wide area, now dimly lit by starlight and a full moon. To Cassandra and Eve, the moon looked odd. As if there was some difference. Something they needed to know. The light dimmed and Cassandra turned Baird's face to see the large giant sauntering towards them. Cassandra backed away and let Baird engage the creature in combat. She felt a tug at her arm. Trudi was pointing to something. It was a box of bolts of cotton. She frowned, not sure what was expected of her. Cassandra studied the actions the giantess was using and copied them. A sheet of paper blew over from the top of the box. Slowly, gradually, she saw the box begin to rise. With a flick of her wrist, it cannoned into the giant and knocked him off balance. She started on the next one.

Eve Baird watched the giant stumble and took her chance. As she moved to hit him, now with a piece of lead piping in hand, her phone rang."

"Eve?" Flynn's frown was adorably recognisable. "Is that you?"

"Hello Librarian," Eve's gasped, dodging an error of giant proportions. She spun round and side-kicked his knee

"Are you alright?" Flynn's frown deepened. "You sound out of breath."

"I'm fine, I'm fine," she reassured him. "Just a bit busy right now if I'm honest."

Flynn's eyebrows rose. "Doing what? It sounds like you're being attacked by a minotaur!"

"Nope, no minotaurs here," she replied, watching another box soar through the air, this one knocking the giant over. "Just moving a few things around. Big, heavy things. Sometimes they fall over."

"Nobody hurt I hope?"

"All good," she replied brightly. "No problems here. Why, do you need something?"

"Do I have to need something to call you?" Flynn's voice tried to sound sincere, but failed miserably. "Can't I just call to say I love you?"

"Nope," she decided. "No, Flynn, you call because you need something _and_ to tell me you love me, if you've any sense."

"And I do love you," he smiled.

"Now I know you need something!" Eve laughed. "What is it?"

"We may have got ourselves slightly stuck," admitted the Librarian. "And by me I mean myself and Ezekiel. Stone went the other way along the landing, but I can't get him to answer his phone."

"Did you boys have a fight?" Eve asked seriously.

"No, we, I... I thought it would be a good idea for Ezekiel and Stone to take a break from each other for a bit, and we were searching a massive old mansion house so we thought it best if somebody keep an eye on Ezekiel..."

"I resent that," chimed in the ex-thief in question from the background.

"So he and I went one way and Stone the other," finished Flynn. "We found a panic room and went in to investigate, but now it seems to have locked us in. We need someone to come and let us out."

"Really?" Eve's voice shot up. "How is your air supply? Do you have water and food? There should be water and at least dried food, maybe tinned, depending on how fussy the owner is."

"Oh, that's all fine," he assured her. "We're in no immediate danger as far as I can see, we just can't get out."

"Okay, that's a relief," she sighed. "We'll just finish up here then come rescue you. How does that sound?"

"Like I've lost track of whose turn it is to rescue whom," grinned Flynn through the phone. "We're up the stairs, turn right at the first main landing and it's the fifth door on the left. Call me when you get here and I'll tell you how to open the door. I shall see you soon, Guardian."

"See you soon, Librarian," said Eve, and the phone clicked off.


	25. For the Dress, Chapter 5

"Are you okay?" Baird, throwing down the lead piping next to the now unconscious giant, hurried over to Cassandra's side. "Your nose."

Cassandra wiped away a tickle of blood. "Huh," she muttered. "Just like old times."

"Thank you," said the Colonel, turning to Trudi. "For whatever you did to make those boxes fly. I'd have been a pancake by now without them."

"It was not me," replied the giant, nodding towards Cassandra. "I just showed her how."

"You did magic?" Baird turned to Cassandra, shocked.

"I just moved a few things around," Cassandra shrugged. "I can see it here, or sense it, whatever. This is a magical world, Eve: magic is much, much stronger. When I tap into the synaesthesia, I can see it, everywhere. I can reach out and touch it. That's all I did."

"Can you see magic in our world?" Baird looked at her sideways.

"Not as such, no," said Cassandra. "It's much weaker there. I do get a sort of odd feeling when I'm around something powerful though. Like I have a little compass needle inside my head, and magic is the magnet."

"How long has that been happening?" Baird frowned. "Since the hospital?"

"Before, I think," it was Cassandra's turn to frown. "It's sort of built up gradually. Why?"

"Just wondering," Baird shook her head.

"Why did you mention the hospital?" Cassandra persisted.

Baird shook her head again and turned away. "Just something the other you mentioned when Flynn and I went timeline hopping. Something about magic cures messing with your head."

"You were cured by magic?" Trudi looked from one woman to the other in confusion.

"I had a tumour, it was killing me," Cassandra explained.

"There is a spell for that?"

"No, she was lucky," clarified Baird. "True love's first kiss was an option. The only option, it turned out."

"Then you too have found your true love?" Trudi smiled. "When is the wedding?"

"Oh, we're not... We're just..." Cassandra floundered.

"They're taking things slowly," Eve interjected, throwing the redhead a lifeline. "They've only just worked out how they feel about each other."

"It was not obvious when you met?" Trudi frowned. "For my people it is."

"It was obvious to everyone else," suggested Eve. "Maybe that's just how it is with Librarians."

"You knew right away, when you met your true love?" Cassandra asked Trudi, eager to steer the conversation away from herself. "What is he like?"

"I knew and he knew," Trudi nodded. "But for us to marry is forbidden. So we run to his world. We hide here and in your world. We build trades for ourselves. I with my dresses, Snorri with his jewellery and trinkets. He is the greatest smith in all the nine worlds."

"Snore-y?" Eve queried. She shrugged and smiled. "He's not a dwarf, is he?"

"How did you guess?" Trudi smiled broadly. "But then, the dwarves of Svartalfheim are famous everywhere for their skill with metal and precious stones."

"Yes, that's exactly what they're famous for here," agreed Eve, with a distinctly straight face. "Hadn't we better go track him down, now that your brother is all neatly tied up over there?"

Trudi nodded. "I will take you to his forge."

They followed the giantess through more tunnels then out into broad daylight. As the sun burned their retinas, the women stood, blinking and dazzled. Trudi waited patiently for them to lower the hands from their eyes. Cassandra was the first to do so and take in her new surroundings.

"Is this still your world?" Cassandra asked, looking about her. "Wasn't it just night?"

Trudi laughed. "That was our little stargazing room," she replied. "It was not real. Snorri made it for me. He truly is the greatest craftsman that has ever lived."

Cassandra cast her mind back, picturing the room, with its moon and starry sky. There had felt like there was something not quite right. "But it had clouds!"

"An illusion, merely," smiled the giant. "It was on a night such as that one that we met, wandering on your world. The night sky here looks very different from your own. I spent so much of those early days staring up at the sky that my Snorri swore he would bring the stars and moon down from the sky to entertain me always. A brave promise, but he kept it as you have seen."

"And there ain't many men who could do that," muttered Eve.

They continued through wooded glades and sheltered valleys in the foothills of a mountain range. The grass grew tall on either side of them in the meadows, the trees bent leafy branches over their heads in the woodlands. Small things rustled and scuttled away through grasses and leaves. Birds heard their approach and flew off long before they were spotted. Eventually, they saw a mountainside open up before them in the familiar pi shaped entrance of a mine. Beside the mine was a long, low building. The smell of sulphur, and something else, wafted its way towards them.

"That smell," mused Baird as they approached the building. "I'm sure I've smelt it..."

Cassandra turned at the lack of sound and saw Eve Baird standing stock still with one hand raised up. "Eve?"

"How well do you get on with dragons in this world," asked Baird, watching the giant closely.

"Oh, do not be afraid of old Rerir: Snorri raised him from an egg. Now he keeps the forge burning hotter than any in Svartalfheim, or any others of the nine worlds. An item forged in dragon fire has many great properties."

They entered the forge and found the dwarf busily hammering away at something. When they got closer they saw that he was wearing a contraption on his head similar to night vision goggles, but with telescopic lenses. They also saw that the hammer in his hand was tiny. A toothpick could easily have been wider than its handle and an olive broader than its head. Trudi ducked under a beam and sat down by the smith. He looked round and saw her. Even before the headgear was off, both Cassandra and Eve could tell that the smile now lighting his face went all the way up to his eyes.

Trudi indicated the two women and described their adventure. The smith's face displayed calm, then surprise, then worry, then relief, then worry again, then surprise again, then ended with relief. He turned to the women and thanked them profusely.

"I have no words great enough," he said. "No jewels precious enough, to repay you for your kindness and bravery. This I will do in payment, though. My Trudi shall make for you a wedding gown unlike any other. There will be no fee. Nor will there be any fee for the jewellery I shall make to accompany it."

"Oh, you don't have to do that," Eve blushed. "Really, it's all just a part of my day job."

"Do you need a gown for the wedding too?" Trudi asked Cassandra. "I shall make one for you, yes?"

"She's my Maid of Honour," cut in Eve before Cassandra could reply. "She'll definitely need a dress."

"Then I shall make it," nodded Trudi. "It shall match the bridal gown and the maid herself. And Snorri shall make the jewellery."

"There's still something you haven't told us," began Cassandra. "If you don't mind me asking: why was your brother so eager to get you back? Surely, if you had already run away with Snorri, whoever it is he wants you to marry knows you don't want to marry him?"

"It is more complicated than that," sighed Trudi. "My family is an old one, though our power is waning. The giant my brother wishes me to marry is very powerful. They say he will be among the first to lead the rise. I do not care for power. My brother does. If I marry this man, I lose my freedom, and my love, but my brother gains much power."

"You're sure you don't need our help to send him to one of these other worlds?" Baird asked, nodding her head sharply in the direction of the caverns they had left before.

"He cannot break the bonds we used," replied Trudi. "And we have only one portal. Once you are returned to your own world, Snorri and I will send him to another."

Eve nodded. Snorri held out a hand to his beloved and, together, they led the two women out of the forge. The walk back to the caverns was pleasant, with the happy couple telling stories of their worlds and their histories. Snorri described the tale of a human smith, though with some elf blood in his veins, who married a valkyrie and forged ring after ring of precious gold, one for each day she was not with him. Trudi told the story of Ymir, the first of all the giants, and of the creation of the nine worlds. They reached the tunnels and made their way back to the cavern Cassandra and Eve had first entered. The giant was still sleeping in his bonds. They said their goodbyes to Trudi and Snorri, promising to return in due course for fittings, and made their way back through the portal into the little shop. Cassandra suggested they put a few blocks between themselves and the shop's wormhole, before calling Jenkins to ask for their own to be re-routed. They did so.

"Success ladies?" Jenkins asked from the balcony as they stepped through into the office.

"I think we can definitely say yes to that, Jenkins," replied Eve.

"In so very many ways," agreed Cassandra, grinning.

"And now, I believe, I have a fiancé to rescue," continued the Guardian. "Have you heard from them?"

"Not since they asked me to look into the mystery houses again," replied Jenkins with a brief shake of his head. "I'm still working on that. Why?"

"They may have called a couple of times," grinned Cassandra. "Mine found himself some books and Eve's got himself and Ezekiel locked in a panic room."

"They called to ask me to go and let them out," Eve expanded. "They're safe," she added, seeing the look on Jenkins' face freeze almost imperceptibly. "They're just locked in. Can you reset the door to find them?"

"Maybe," mused Jenkins. "Most likely I can get it in the same building, then you can go find them and let them out. I don't think I can link it to a door they can't open."

"Have you ever tried?" Cassandra asked, out of honest curiosity. "Has anyone?"

"Actually, you know, I'm not sure," replied Jenkins, slowly. "I have some records up here somewhere..."

"We'll help you look," decided Eve, and the two women hurried up the stairs.

Ten minutes later there was a sound and the three looked down to see the gentlemen had returned to the Library of their own accord, in safety and good fellowship. They were leading a familiar old man into the office that, he proclaimed, had barely changed since his day. He picked up the small globe and threw it up in the air. It hung there, projecting the ley lines as always. Stone looked downcast.

"It just takes practise, time and a lot of contact with magic," breezed old man. In the shadow of the bookcases, Eve and Cassandra saw Jenkins freeze, looked down at the old man then back up to each other.

"Is that Leonardo da Vinci?" Cassandra hissed.

"How should I know: I'm not the one with the art history background, or dating the one with the art history background, Eve hissed back.

The globe dropped obediently into his palm. Three faces appeared at the mezzanine balustrade. Baird and Cassandra hurried down to greet their respective beaux and Ezekiel. Jenkins stayed where he was. Eve noticed a strange look on his face. One that she had seen before, as she lay bleeding into the river of time itself.

"What name do you go by now, my gentle, perfect friend?" Leonardo asked, looking up.

"Jenkins," replied the caretaker. "And there's a lot more than that you'll have to get caught up on!"

"Mr Carsen has offered to do just that," smiled the old master. "Indeed, I feel we should go do so right away. I would hate to get under your feet. It is much more crowded here than it was."

"Where were you?" Jenkins persisted. "He never told me."

"I asked him to tell no-one," shrugged Leonardo. "I was here, with my friend and protector. When he died I remained with his house and his son. Now the current son wants me dead like his father. I must find myself a new hiding place."

"The Library will make you a room if you ask it to," said Jenkins. "If you must disappear again, at least try to keep in touch this time."

"I did," da Vinci protested. "Merely not with yourself."

"Mr Jones, kindly show the maestro to the kitchen. He always looks famished. I am sure Mr Carsen will join him there presently," intoned Jenkins coldly, before turning away and disappearing into the shelves.

Without comment or argument, Ezekiel led the great Leonardo da Vinci out of the office and down the hall.

"Did you have a nice time, my darling," Flynn asked Eve. "Flowers chosen, dress bought, invitations sent?"

"You're helping me with the invitations, Flynn Carsen," she told him. "It's your wedding too."

"But you had fun terrorising Jenkins with your girly planning, organising and reorganising, yes?"

"More or less," Eve admitted. "One or two big surprises, but nothing we couldn't handle."

Unable to contain his excitement any longer, Jacob turned to Cassandra, eyes wide, smile beaming and finger pointing at the empty hallway.

"I just met Leonardo da Vinci," he whispered. "The _actual_ Leonardo da Vinci!"

Five minutes later, having watched her boyfriend try not to explode with the excitement of meeting one of his heroes, Cassandra watched him hurry out of the office, following in the footsteps of the great master. She turned to Eve and folded her arms triumphantly.

"Well, I win that one," she grinned.

Flynn, who had been left behind when Stone hurried after da Vinci, overheard this and turned to them with a suspicious glance. "Win what?"


	26. For the Ghost, Chapter 1

Somewhere, high above, the wind whispered through the trees. It told tales of knights and lords, of fair ladies and scullery maids, of myths and magic, of ghosts, ghouls and things that go bump in the night.

Somewhere, far below, the waves soughed a lament across the pebbles as another soul leaked from this world to the next. They were joined in a duet with the sound of pipes, drifting on the night wind.

Up on the cliff top, the lady turned and vanished into the mist, and the castle stood alone.

XXXX

"Hey! I thought we said it was my turn today!" Jacob Stone's voice floated up to the mezzanine, where Ezekiel and Cassandra looked down and giggled.

"Nobody knows this library better than I do," argued Flynn's voice. "How will you know what was here in Leonardo's day and what wasn't?"

"I'll know what I helped find!" Stone rejoined. "And I'm sure he'll know what he found."

"Helped! I know a whole ten years worth of artefacts and monsters found by me, myself and I!" Flynn's voice took on a new level of pomposity.

"So there'll be plenty left over for tomorrow!" Stone, ever the voice of reason, mostly, pointed out.

"Haven't you got a bachelor party to plan?" Flynn reminded his opponent.

"Haven't you got a wedding to plan?" Stone retorted.

"The ladies are doing most of that," Flynn verbally shrugged.

"Not the guest list or the tables or the invites..." Stone began listing.

"Or the groom's vows," added Eve, walking past on her way to the stairs.

"If you don't let me take my turn, I'll let Ezekiel help plan the stag party," grinned Stone, making the shift from complaining to cajoling to common threats.

"You wouldn't dare!" Flynn gasped.

"Bet?" Stone raised an eyebrow and held Flynn's gaze.

There was silence.

"Fine!" Flynn sighed, like a teenager who had just been sent to his room. "You take him today. I'll take him tomorrow."

The sound of stomping feet left the office below, followed by the smugly placed footsteps of the winner. Eve, Cassandra and Ezekiel burst out laughing.

"I do not see how two grown men arguing over who gets to show an ex-employee around the building he used to work in to see how it has changed in the time since, is funny," commented Jenkins from his chair a few feet away.

The trio looked at him, then burst into another peal of laughter. They were interrupted by Cassandra's purse apparently attempting to attack itself.

"What the..." Baird began.

"Clippings book," Cassandra explained, retrieving the madly flapping article in question.

Like a tame bird, the book calmed in her hands and fell open to its newly added page. The clipping this time was from what looked like a small local or tabloid newspaper. The heading read "There's Been a Murder! Grisly Death on Ayrshire Beach".

"Murder mystery?" Cassandra frowned. She handed the book to Ezekiel. "Isn't that your field?"

"We thought the last case was Stone's field because of the auction," the thief replied. "It wasn't 'til we got there we realised it was a kidnapping."

"A while after you got there," Baird reminded him.

"We should have trusted the Library," agreed Ezekiel. "It knew who was needed."

"I sometimes think she knows a lot more than she lets on," Cassandra called up to the ceiling, suspiciously, mindful of the number of bets and predictions the Library had taken part in. 'She' hadn't lost one!

"We're calling it a 'she' now?" Jenkins enquired, looking up over the edge of his book. "Since when does a building have a gender identity?"

"You call your car Matilda," Baird cut in. "Don't think we haven't noticed."

Cassandra placed the clippings book down on the little reading desk Ezekiel, Eve and she were seated around. "Okay, Library: I know you can move books. If you think of yourself as a 'she', move it towards me; as a 'he', move it towards Ezekiel; or, if you'd rather be referred to as 'it', move the book towards Jenkins."

The little book flipped shut and rose slightly from the desk. It hovered indecisively, edging first nearer to Cassandra, then Ezekiel, then back again. It stood up on its end, facing the gap between the two and rocking back and forth. Eventually it tumbled head over heels towards Cassandra, landing with the cover facing her. It flipped back to the new page. Cassandra looked up at Jenkins and smirked. The old man grumbled something about giving a building ideas and went back to his book.

"Maybe we should all go," suggested Baird. "If there's a crime to solve, Ezekiel's knowledge would be useful. If there's a murderer on the loose, I'd rather I was with you. I dare say we'll find out why it turned up in your book when we get there."

There was a general noise of agreement around the table. The only sound of dissent came from the chair a few feet away.

"Maybe if we know there's a murderer on the loose," suggested Jenkins patiently, "we should look before we leap this time. Where is this beach? Whose is the body? Is there any history or pattern?"

"It's the only clipping on the page," said Cassandra.

"It's a small page," Jenkins reminded her. "Try turning it over."

Cassandra turned back a page, then forward a page. "Nothing," she called over. "Next suggestion?"

"You're researchers now, aren't you?" Jenkins stated rhetorically. "Go research!"

"Most sensible first step in any research is always to ask the guy who already knows," said Ezekiel, leaning back on the hind legs of his chair.

"Hmm," Jenkins glared pointedly at the chair legs. Slowly Ezekiel leant forward and let all four feet rest on the ground. Jenkins looked up again, this time with a slight smile. "Well this guy does not know anything about this case. If you'll excuse me, therefore, I believe I shall endeavour to find out how much of my Library Leonardo has already reorganised. If it should be possible to prise either of his two new best friends away from him, would any of you like their company on this new adventure?"

"Let Jacob enjoy meeting his hero," replied Cassandra, her nose wrinkling in fond remembrance. "He's kinda cute when he gets all geeky."

"You think he's 'kinda cute' when he does anything!" Ezekiel quipped. "And I can't say I know many full grown men who actually like being referred to as 'kinda cute' anyway! 'Specially not ones that like bar fights!"

"Tell Flynn to let Stone enjoy meeting his hero," said Baird with a short laugh. "He can get back here and help out with the research. It's about time he helped out with something: we still haven't set a date and it's only thanks to Ezekiel helping out that we've even got a short list of venues!"

"And which _aisle_ of shelves shall I send him to?" Jenkins asked, his nose in the air.

"Just send him to here," said Eve, waving a hand in the general direction of the desk. "We'll use it for books just now."

"As you wish," nodded the Caretaker. Turning on his heel, he headed for the stairs and disappeared down them.

Cassandra watched his head bobbing as Jenkins descended each step, her head on one side. "I wonder what he's hiding?"

"We'll never know the half of it," said Ezekiel, shaking his head. "If we're lucky we might just get to see how much of the iceberg is under those waters."

"And if we're not?" Baird asked, keeping her voice low and soft.

"Remember a boat called the Titanic?" replied the thief.

Baird nodded, rolling her eyes at his scare mongering over-dramatics.

Cassandra watched the white hair disappear. "It was a ship," she murmured thoughtfully.

XXXX

Flynn was sitting on one of the display tables in the Library when Jenkins found him. Carefully positioned on various plinths around him were pipes, pens, pocket-watches, papyri and a plethora of poetical pieces. On his head was a wide-brimmed black felt hat.

"Why are you wearing Robert Burns' writing hat?" Jenkins sighed.

" _Guid-mornin to your Majesty!  
May heaven augment your blisses,  
On ev'ry new birthday ye see,  
A humble Poet wishes!_"

"Neither of which you are, Mr Carsen," groaned Jenkins. "Please take that off. I do not understand why a man such as yourself, a Librarian nonetheless, would deliberately allow one of the Library's artefacts to affect him."

" _The cares o Love are sweeter far  
That onie other pleasure;  
And if sae dear its sorrows are,  
Enjoyment, what a treasure!_"

"I take it back," sighed Jenkins, reaching over and grabbing the hat. "You haven't written your vows yet, have you?"

"When ilka..." Flynn stopped and blinked. "Ah, Jenkins, there you are. I was just thinking about you. Can't think why."

"That may have something to do with me standing here trying to talk to you for the past few minutes," nodded Jenkins. "Having trouble coming up with the right words for our vows, were we?"

"I... Yes, why?" Flynn looked about him suspiciously. "What was I doing?"

"Spouting Burns," Jenkins waved the offending article in the air and replaced it on its hat stand on the table. "One might suggest, as inspiration for marital vows presumably including fidelity, a poet who was not a famous philanderer with at least five illegitimate children, all to different mothers, born during the two years or so it took him to get his marriage to his official wife recognised, and that's not including the twins she bore him during that time."

"I was thinking of him more as the most successful romantic of the poets," shrugged Flynn. "A Casanova of poets, if you will."

"Casanova didn't make promises he couldn't keep," retorted Jenkins. "At least not about love. Money was another matter entirely."

"Then who do I turn to for advice here, Jenkins?" Flynn hopped down from the table and turned to it. The first item he pointed to was a quill pen clamped very securely with its nib pointing upwards. "I daren't try Shakespeare. Herodotus is a bore when it comes to romance. Aristophanes takes nothing seriously. Homer would have me banished on a ten year quest to track down my love through mysterious and life-threatening adventures - been there, done that! Byron will give you the hangover from Hades and the depression to go with it. Wordsworth is a cold fish. Virgil can spout omnia vincit amor all he likes but it all just comes out in Latin. Tennyson would be good, but we have no artefacts for him and only two books, both of which are apparently being borrowed right now by 'someone'..."

"One would suggest a certain Elizabeth Barrett Browning," said Jenkins, taking Flynn by the shoulder and steering him towards the office. "Or, if you prefer a male author's words in this instance, try Friedrich Halm. We should have books on both. Of course you could just have asked your Best Man for advice, or any of the other gentlemen currently residing within these walls."

Flynn turned and looked at Jenkins. He seemed to be weighing these options. "You're right," he said, finally. "I should have asked Stone."

Jenkins narrowed his eyes and pointed in the direction of the office. "Case. Go. Now. Upper reading area. Shoo."


	27. For the Ghost, Chapter 2

Flynn heard the small group before he saw them. Cassandra and Ezekiel were arguing over something and Eve was playing peacemaker as usual. Or trying to anyway. He smiled at the sound. It really had felt like there had been something missing lately. Now it felt more like home. If anyone had asked him, a couple of years ago, where he saw his life headed, he would have told them exactly what he had told his little LiT's way back when they first started their training. Now, he realised, it didn't have to be that way. The loneliness, the misery, all of that had gone. The mystery, the adventure, that was all still there, but now he didn't just have a partner to share that with, he had a family. He had even more of a family on its way, if Eve's trip to the future turned out right. She had jumped twenty years forward, Janus coin in hand, and met her son. Their son. The son who had then turned up in their shared dream. A dream of hopes for the future: hers for her son, and his for their relationship. The boy had been then as she said he was when she time travelled: a teenager in that awkward phase between boyhood and manhood, as tall as his mother, old enough to shave but still without the broader frame or maturity of features that denoted adulthood. Flynn placed him at about seventeen, give or take a year. That would put his birthday at maybe two and a half years from now? Again, give or take a year. What if he was wrong? The boy could have been older, after all. What if they put off the wedding too long and...

"Flynn!" Eve's voice broke into Flynn's thoughts. "There you are! We've got a Scottish murder mystery to solve."

"We should get married before Christmas," announced Flynn.

"Too bad, there isn't a decent venue available until spring," Eve rejoined. "If you'd been here earlier, when the three of us spent an entire morning calling round the list we'd spent the whole of yesterday putting together, you'd know that."

"I apologise, my love, my thoughts were elsewhere," said Flynn, sliding an arm around Eve's waist and kissing her forehead. "So when is the earliest date we got?"

"There is a suitable church and nearby hotel that could fit us in the first weekend in April," Eve told him. "That is not why you're here though."

"Nevertheless, global apocalyptic magical catastrophes permitting, that date suits me fine," he replied. "Now tell me all about this murder."

"We're not even sure it was a murder," exclaimed Cassandra. "The only thing that suggests that is the newspaper and it is a bit biased!"

"Biased how?" Flynn frowned.

"Biased by wanting to sell more newspapers," Cassandra shrugged. "They don't mention anything conclusive in the article at all. All the injuries they do mention are simply consistent with a fall from a height similar to that of the cliff below which the body was found so..."

"Yeah, but the body would have had to be closer to the cliff if it was just a fall," argued Ezekiel. "And he would have had to take a running jump to get that far out if it was suicide. He had to have been pushed! And at force too!"

"Have we considered actually going to see this crime scene?" Flynn enquired.

"Well yes, of course," began Cassandra.

"Jenkins just thought we should do a bit of background research first," finished Ezekiel.

"Find out something about where we were going," explained Cassandra.

"See if there were any links to the Library that might give us some clues," suggested Ezekiel.

"Maybe get a better idea of where exactly the cliff was," added Cassandra.

"Maybe work out where to send the door," finished Ezekiel.

"They've been arguing over 'did he fall or was he pushed' ever since," said Eve.

Flynn sighed and smiled. "Show me the article," he said, holding out a hand.

Cassandra handed him her book and the trio watched him read the article carefully. About half way down the page he started nodding.

"Ezekiel, get me a current map of Scotland," Flynn ordered without looking up.

"What shelf?" Ezekiel asked.

Flynn blinked. "Google Earth will do," he grinned. "Not everything needs a library book these days!"

"Done!" Ezekiel hurried to where he had left his laptop charging and began setting it up.

"Cassandra, search the card catalogue for Ayrshire, Scotland," said Flynn, preparing his next order. "Then cross reference with murders and mysterious deaths."

"On it!" Cassandra hurried off.

"Any orders for me, Librarian?" Eve asked, turning to him with folded arms.

"One or two," replied Flynn imperiously. "I want to see these venues you've been looking through, but first I really, really want to kiss you."

"Since when did we start asking permission for that?" Eve smirked.

"Since I started spending more time with an ancient artist than with my fiancée," replied Flynn, putting on a look that could only be described as puppy-dog eyes.

"Wise man," smiled Eve. She let him pull her closer, wrapping her arms around him as the kiss went on. A noisily cleared throat eventually alerted them to the return of other people.

"Google Earth, zoomed in on Ayrshire," reported Ezekiel, uncharacteristically interested in the ceiling. "I looked up a few other reports online and I've put a pin in the beach in question. It's down here by Maybole, about half way along the coast from Croy to Maidens."

"Yeah, yeah, I've put him down, you can look," laughed Baird. "Bring that thing over here and let's have a look."

Unplugging the laptop from its charger, Ezekiel brought it over. "It's here," he said, pointing to a yellow map pin on the page.

"Cull-zee-an Castle," read Baird. "Well, castles are usually good for old weird creepy stuff."

"Cull-ayn," corrected Flynn. "The 'z' in the name is a variation on the old Scots, and middle English, letter 'yogh'. It looked more like a number three and was replace in typesetting by the 'z' the same way the thorn was replaced by the 'y', leading to signs like 'ye olde tea shoppe' which actually simply read 'the old tea shop'. The extra e's and p were not needed, of course: they were just there to give it a more mediaeval feel."

"Any more Scottish place names you think you might have to correct me on?" Eve asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

Flynn missed her tone entirely. "Probably plenty," he breezed. "I think it was the Scots' secret way to spot a rogue Englishman: they booby-trapped their language!"

"Hmm," growled Eve. "So tell me about this Culzean Castle, then."

"It has ghosts!" Cassandra called, hurrying up the stairs towards them. "Loads of ghosts! Some really well known ones though. There's a mysterious piper, a weird mist, a young woman..."

"I guess we know why the Library picked you then!" Ezekiel laughed. You're the only person I know with form for killing a ghost!"

"Try to say that without making me sound like a criminal please," bristled Cassandra. "I did save all of you, after all!"

"Only because we were stuck in a magical dollhouse," protested Ezekiel. "If we hadn't been..."

"Remind me, Jones," cut in Baird. "What did you do to try and get out of that dollhouse?"

"So what does this piper do, then?" Jones asked, switching the topic at the drop of a hat, or dollhouse reference. "Stand on the battlements and play Scotland the Brave when somebody's due to go join him on the other side?"

"Actually, he's the ghost of a piper who was sent, by the lord of the castle, to play his way through the tunnels below the building to prove there were no ghosts or witches there. The locals were too scared to go down there, you see," explained Cassandra, her eyes shining with the excitement of her tale. "So off he went and started playing, and the lord of the castle, and his men, went round to meet him at the other side. They could hear him soon enough, but that was all. The piper was never seen again! Now people say that he plays before the wedding of a Kennedy daughter."

"Kennedy? Like John F?" Baird asked, her brow wrinkling.

"No, like clan Kennedy," clarified Cassandra. "They owned the castle for most of its lifetime, and it was a Kennedy lord who sent the piper into the caves."

"So no link to dead presidents, that's good," breathed Baird.

"Actually President Eisenhower was there for a while," Cassandra supplied.

"He's not one of the ghosts, is he?" Baird sighed.

"Depends on which psychic you ask," shrugged Cassandra.

"So we're going to a cliff top castle in Scotland, in the middle of November, to investigate a murder that may have been committed by the ghost of a dead American president?" Baird summed up, looking from Jones, to Cassandra, to Flynn.

"Better than the ghost of a live American president," quipped Jones.

"And we don't know which ghost actually is the murderer," added Flynn.

"Or if it's even actually a murder," added Cassandra.

"Let's assume if _we're_ hearing about it, it is," said Baird. "Go grab your bags and, Jones, find us somewhere to stay overnight just in case. The closer the better."

"I know just the place," grinned the thief, disappearing with his laptop.

XXXX

"Ah, the crown of King Arthur," murmured Leonardo, looking appreciatively at the painting. "You've had it moved here then?"

"Once we moved the crown itself, Jones was on a mission to steal the world's only immobile painting," explained Stone. "The gallery were going to make a fuss once they discovered it missing, but they received a letter from an eminent art historian congratulating them on their decision to finally remove from display what had been an obvious fake, and somehow they decided not to make quite so much a fuss as all that."

"An eminent art historian such as yourself?" Leonardo smiled.

"Couldn't possibly comment," replied Stone, looking away.

"What gave it away as a fake?" Leonardo frowned, looking over the painting with a critical eye. "The artist is unknown so it shouldn't be the brushwork."

"The carmine," nodded Stone, pointing out the colour on the canvas.

"Of course," Leonardo sighed. "And I thought I'd been so clever bringing back an unknown pigment from the New World!"

"You?" Stone's eyebrows shot up. He pointed at the painting. "You did this?"

"When one is good enough to paint a da Vinci, boy," replied the old master with a grin, "one is good enough to paint anything!"

"Why didn't Jenkins tell us?" Stone remonstrated. "He must have known!"

"Did he know?" Leonardo asked. "This was your first case, you said. When did you meet my old friend, Jenkins?"

"That's true enough," nodded Stone. "We found this and the crown before we met Jenkins, and it was only much later that Jones decided to take on his little 'challenge'. What is it with you and he anyway? You and Jenkins, I mean."

"Does Mr Jones know about your letter?" Leonardo queried, ignoring the question.

Stone eyed the old man carefully and shook his head. "Nope, and I'm happy for it to stay that way."

"Now take that answer," said Leonardo evenly, "and apply it to the question of whether or not you really want to know what went on between Jenkins and I."


	28. For the Ghost, Chapter 3

"It's gonna be a long day," sighed Eve Baird, watching her three charges explode from the stable the door had opened into and head in three different directions. Cassandra had made a beeline for the ancient boat carriage in the stable next door. Flynn had been distracted by the castle itself just around the opposite corner of the stable building. Jones had wandered off down the hill toward a path leading down the cliff to the beach. "Jones, get back here!"

"But, crime scene," the thief pointed at the cliff.

"The cliff our murder victim fell from was round the other side of the castle," Baird pointed out.

"I have gone over the grounds of this place as clearly as if I'd lived here," replied Jones. "There's no easier way down to the shore that I can find."

"Fine, take Cassandra with you," she relented, shooing the scientist away from the invention. "Just remember there's a headland between your stairs and the crime scene. Don't get cut off if the tide comes in. Flynn and I will try to find where he fell from."

"Yeah, where is Flynn?" Ezekiel smirked. He watched Baird glance over her shoulder, glare back at him, then hurry off. Cassandra fell into step beside him and he turned to her. "Is it weird being on a case without him?"

"Not until you asked me it wasn't," she smiled. "Jacob would love this place. The buildings alone are stunning."

"I'm guessing he's loving spending time with the great maestro too, though," Jones replied, leading the way down the stairs. "The dude has been spending so much time with Flynn over the past six weeks, he must be glad of the change too!"

"Not just Flynn," Cassandra reminded him. "Da Vinci did disappear with Jenkins for a week almost, then the two of them were left more or less alone when we all went out to investigate those quakes in China and New Zealand."

"Trying to keep in touch with two different time zones was _not_ fun!" Jones recollected, vividly. "And then I dragged Flynn back to the dig for a few days. Where was Stone then?"

"We were dealing with a demon in Des Moines," said Cassandra, holding on to the rail for support as they descended the worn steps to the bay. "Eve came too. We got a lot of planning done."

"Oh no," Ezekiel groaned and turned on the steps to face her. "You ganged up on him, didn't you. Please tell me you at least left him _some_ leeway for the stag night!"

"I don't know what you mean," sniffed Cassandra, her nose in the air. "I'm sure Eve and I wouldn't dare dream of interfering with you boys and your stag party."

"Oh, he won! Good on ya, Stone!" Ezekiel laughed. "What was it? If we can't have such-and-such, neither can you?"

"Nothing so mercenary," replied Cassandra, moving past him and leading the way down to the beach.

XXXX

Eve caught up with Flynn in the courtyard of the castle, contemplating a cannon. She slowed to a walk and was surprised to see a small, slightly balding, portly man walk up to him and greet the Librarian as an old friend. She quickened her pace.

"Darling!" Flynn called out, spotting her approach. "Come and meet Professor Wilkins! You remember me telling you about that dig in Norway we're funding."

Without missing a beat, Eve broke into a bright smile and relaxed her military bearing a little. "Professor Wilkins," she beamed. "Of course. We were just speaking of you a few days ago. Is the dig over? What brings you here?"

"Oh, my dear lady, I am merely conferring with a colleague on a small but urgent matter," replied the professor ingratiatingly. "She just happened to be staying at the hotel here for a wedding."

"There's a hotel here?" Eve asked, her voice going up a notch. She was sure she knew now where Ezekiel had booked for them to stay.

"You didn't know?" The professor asked back. "But of course, you'll be here to tour the house and grounds for the day. I should let you get back to it."

The little man hurried off towards the main part of the house. Eve turned to Flynn. "Remind me again what cover Jones faked for you for the dig team?"

"I am one Alistair Lethbridge-Stewart," said Flynn, reciting from memory. "And he's my secretary, Mr John Smith. You he did not come up with a name for."

"Hmm," smiled Eve. "Just as well. I don't think I could see myself as a Sarah-Jane."

"Huh?" Flynn's brow creased.

Eve laughed and shook her head. "Doesn't matter. We'd better tell the others though. Don't really want Cassandra accidentally blowing our cover if she bumps into him without someone around to clue her in."

"It'll mean Ezekiel and I will have to go by our cover names for the duration," Flynn reminded her. "I don't know what name he booked our rooms under, but if they're here, which I think they might be, and he booked them under Jones, which I think he might have done..."

"I guess I'll just have to be Martha Jones for the time being, then," Eve chuckled. That made the penny drop.

"Isn't she a character in..." Flynn began.

"Yes, dear," Eve cut in, trying not to laugh.

"Were they all characters in..."

"Yes, dear."

"Wouldn't somebody have spotted..."

"No, dear," Eve shook her head. "Apparently archaeologists are about as interested in modern television as you are dear."

"Hey, I did my time watching those DVDs of it with him while he was ill."

"Apparently you didn't watch enough of them, dear."

Eve sat down on a bench and dialled Jones on her cell. She filled him in on the details and, by the time she returned to a still sulking Flynn, she was back to her serious self. She took Flynn by the arm and led him through to the gardens. The extensive walled gardens filled the space below the land-side face of the castle, with a path at the far end leading back round to the cliffs on the other side of the building. Eve dragged Flynn around the glass hothouse and down to the grassy lawn around the ornamental ponds, where he would be less distracted by rare or interesting plants.

"We'll stick with Eve Jones for the moment," she told him, linking her arm through his and walking slowly through the meandering tourists. "He did book the rooms here and in his name. He'll fill Cassandra in on our covers, but there isn't really any need for one for her. We have a suite of rooms on the top floor, so it'll make conversation easy. I dread to think what it's going to cost us, but since Jones booked it there's a good chance it'll be considerably less than everyone else. Knowing Jones, we probably won it in a crossword competition or something!"

"Probably," agreed Flynn. "Where are they?"

"Working their way round the shore," said Eve. "The good thing is, if Cassandra doesn't need a cover and Stone decides to join us, he won't need one either."

"So we should be safe," added Flynn. "Panic averted. All systems go. Full speed ahead."

"Who's panicking?" Eve breezed. "I wasn't panicking. You weren't panicking..."

"Flynn Carsen," called a female voice behind them. "It must be ten years! What a lovely surprise!"

Eve stopped walking. "Now I'm panicking."

XXXX

"You're serious? That was you?" Jacob Stone's voice echoed through the vault. It was almost as new to him as it was to da Vinci. The Library was as big as they needed it to be. It added rooms as they needed them, fully furnished. A month or two after being re-anchored to their reality, the Library had produced The Vault. It was like a Library-sized security blanket. Pandora's box had been mysteriously removed into The Vault, followed by a number of other items the Library had deemed too dangerous to be left lying out in the open. Most of them, including the Crown of King Arthur itself, Stone recognised. Of some items, collected during Flynn's decade alone as Librarian, he knew the stories of their retrieval well enough to recite them to Leonardo. Those, such as the crown, that he had helped gather himself, he was still enjoying the novelty of having someone to tell their story to. By other objects he stood enthralled, listening as Leonardo recounted their rescue. There were empty places also. Places where the Library knew something ought to be. Places where objects removed during the Serpent Brotherhood raid had still not been replaced. He explained as much to da Vinci.

"Since we got the Library back it's been one thing after another, and the heist got put on a back burner," said Stone. "The kid seems to know what he's doing, but I'll admit I haven't been around much to find out where he's at with the plan."

"You seem to think it a novelty to have an accomplished thief working for an institution such as this," mused da Vinci.

"Jenkins certainly didn't seem to think it a good idea at first," Stone nodded. "I guess I just assumed it was new for him, and therefore new for the Library."

"You forget," said the old man, "Jenkins resigned himself to the annex for a long time before you arrived. He didn't know everything that went on in his absence."

"And you do?" Stone raised an eyebrow.

"I know what went on in my time. I know some of what has gone on since," replied da Vinci. "Not everything, I grant you, but some. And I know some things that I know Jenkins does not know, for all his bluster and bravado."

"Like the Library using a thief for a Librarian before?"

"More than once, my boy," said the artist. "More than once."

XXXX

Flynn turned and burst into a broad grin. "Emily Davenport! What a small world! What are you doing here?"

"I'm here for the wedding," smiled Emily. "Half the archaeological community is here, if they could get away, of course. Isn't that why you're here?"

"Not really so much a part of that community these days," replied Flynn, shaking his head. "The job just takes up so much, well: you know."

"She knows?" Eve did a double take as Emily smiled and nodded.

"Oh, yes, she knows," said Flynn. "Sorry. Eve, this is Emily Davenport. I met her on a journey to track down King Solomon's Mines, well I say to track them down, Judson had actually specifically told me not to track them down..."

"Got it," snapped Eve, glaring.

Flynn gaped like a fish, his mind reversing and trying to get back on track while at the same time working out why Eve's glare was so much sharper than usual, turned and looked back to Emily. "Emily, this is Eve Baird. She's my Guardian..."

"Fiancée!"

"And fiancée," he continued smoothly, "and we're on a case right now so it would be great if you'd think of us as Eve Jones and Alistair Lethbridge-Stewart."

"Oh, like the Brigadier! How clever," beamed Emily. "I didn't know you were a Doctor Who fan!"

"He's not," replied Eve sweetly. "He didn't even work it out until I pointed it out for him. Like so many other things..."

Flynn glanced sideways at Eve. He was still being glared at. He swallowed and looked back to Emily. "Well, it was lovely to run into you like this, Emily. We're probably staying the night, so we might bump into you again. Must dash just now though: we have a cliff face to investigate. You know how it is. Um... À bientôt, and all that jazz."

Still waving and smiling, Flynn allowed himself to be dragged away by Eve. When they were out of earshot he finally decided to just give up and ask. "Okay, what did I do wrong?"

"Next time," said Eve, keeping a much tighter grip on his arm as she propelled him forward. "Start with fiancée!"


	29. For the Ghost, Chapter 4

"What exactly do you hope to achieve with those?" Cassandra sighed and rolled her eyes as Ezekiel caught his balance yet again stumbling over rocks and pebbles on the shore. He was wearing the filter fitted goggles that Jenkins had made them way back when they investigated the strange goings on at Collins' Falls.

"They picked up ghosts before, maybe they will again," replied the thief, stealing across the beach towards the crime scene.

Metal spikes with yellow tape tied around them marked the place where the body had lain. Time and tide hadn't waited for the permission of the forensics teams, though, and the stony ground had been washed clean. Even now, the tide had turned and was heading inland. Cassandra had been counting the minutes they had left before they started to get cut off. Time was ticking away. Time they should be using to look for sensible clues, not tottering about with obscured vision hoping to see the potential murderer. She surveyed the scene, letting her synaesthesia analyse the dips and troughs created by the impressions of the stones on the sand, and, hopefully the impression of the body. A few lines flickered into view. An arm here. A foot there. Nothing concrete. Nothing whole. She could confirm he had landed hereabouts, but that was all.

"You do remember that they were not, technically, ghosts," said Cassandra, crouching down by the yellow tape and looking up at the cliff top. "They were simply out of phase with our reality. Those goggles weren't designed for real ghosts."

"Research has shown extensive links between high levels of electromagnetic activity and supernatural activity," rattled off Jones. "These goggles may not have been designed to pick up ghosts _per se_ , but they were designed to detect a part of the electromagnetic spectrum we can't usually see. It's worth a shot. What have we got to lose?"

Cassandra watched, nonplussed, as a loose stone rolled beneath the thief's feet and sent him sprawling. "Your balance, apparently," she smirked.

A shout drew their attention up to the cliff top. "Ahoy there!" Flynn called down, waving. "Anything interesting?"

Cassandra shook her head. "Not really. But we were right about the fall: there's no way he could have landed this far out if it were an accident. He would have had to have taken a running jump."

"I'm sorry, who was right?" Jones piped up, now seated on the rock that had broken his fall, wiping sand off his grazed palms.

"Fine, Ezekiel was right," Cassandra corrected herself, still calling up to Eve and Flynn. "Ezekiel is also trying to see ghosts with the phase-shift goggles."

"It might work!" Ezekiel protested.

"I highly doubt it..."

"You thought this was an accident..."

"I just said the evidence was inconclusive..."

"Can you tell if he jumped or was pushed?" Baird called down, bringing the subject back on track.

"No," Cassandra shook her head. "The stones have been washed clean already and none of them are probably where they ought to be. I can barely even detect _where_ the body landed, never mind _how_."

"The newspaper didn't say much about it either," agreed Jones. "If it were closer in it wouldn't matter so much, but this far out it would make a lot of difference whether he landed face down or face up."

"It's pretty difficult to take a running jump off a cliff backwards," agreed Cassandra. "What do you see up there?"

"Not much," called down Baird. "If there was a struggle here, it can't have been much of one. It looked to me like we just followed a path made by police. Straight, clean and easy to follow. No fuss. Definitely no running or altercations."

"He must have jumped then," said Jones with a shrug. "He ran in a straight line and jumped, and that's the line that the police, in their wisdom, enlarged on their way to see if they could work out where he jumped from."

"No," mused Cassandra, looking up and the cliff and down at the faint impressions in the sand and stone. "No, that doesn't work. I can't see much, but I can make out roughly what way he was pointing. If he'd run in a straight line and jumped his head would be round here and his feet round there," she pointed with a piece of driftwood. "No, if he jumped from the cliff, it must have been..." Cassandra let the lines of light fill in the blanks for her and followed the sketched trajectory up the cliff. And up. And up. "Oh my!"

Ezekiel followed Cassandra's gaze up, spotted something else and dived for the redhead. A shower of sand and splintered rock erupted from a spot just behind where she had been standing. Dragging Cassandra to her feet as he rose, Jones hustled her over to the shelter of the cliff. Up on the cliff top, he could see Baird with her gun out and pointed upwards, and Flynn scanning the parapets.

"Jones! You good?" Baird shouted down to them.

"We're fine!" Ezekiel called back, more confidently than he felt. "Go."

With a nod, the couple darted away, still watching the roof line of the building. Beside Jones, in the lea of the cliff face, Cassandra was muttering under her breath. "...is the square of the hypotenuse... Splatter pattern suggests an impact angle of eighty one point two five degrees... Distance twenty centimetres... Tangent is the opposite over the adjacent... Tangent of eighty one point two five equals x over twenty, therefore x equals twenty times the tangent of eighty one point two five..."

"Hey!" Ezekiel shouted, realising too late what she was doing and shaking her to make her look at him. "Don't go there."

"Too late," she smiled apologetically. "X equals one hundred and thirty centimetres." Cassandra tapped a hand in the centre of her chest. "It would have hit here."

"Please do not ever do that," said Jones seriously, still holding Cassandra's shoulders. "We don't worry about what could have been. We have enough to worry about with what is!"

"You should know by now," Cassandra smiled weakly. "Math problems are like catnip to me!"

"Maybe, but at least we know one thing for sure," sighed Jones.

"Which is?"

"Ghosts don't bother with guns. This was murder pure and simple."

"But if there's no ghost to deal with," began Cassandra. "Why would the Library call us in?"

"Maybe he was killed for something magical," shrugged the thief. "Maybe there's an evil cult. Maybe he stumbled upon some monster and its keeper found out. Maybe all three."

"Whatever it is, I hope Baird gives the all clear soon," said the redhead, straightening up and looking past Ezekiel's shoulder. "Look."

Jones turned and looked along the beach. The tide was coming in, and the gap between cliffs and waves was now only filled with treacherous rocks at the shore's highest point. At its lowest, the water was already threatening to cut them off entirely.

"Ah," winced Jones, then smiled brightly. "Don't fret: I have an idea!"

"Why do I get the feeling I'm not going to like it," replied Cassandra suspiciously.

"You're the one who is convinced the ghosts are harmless, and with the automatic satnav in her head," grinned the young man. "You should be fine with this!"

"You've been waiting for an excuse haven't you," groaned Cassandra, realising what was coming. "That's why you brought the goggles."

"What? The locks on these things are ancient! They're too easy not to pick!" Jones shrugged cheerfully. "Then we just follow the tunnels to wherever they come out, presumably up in the castle somewhere, and hey presto! We're back on terra firma!"

"These ghosts might be friendly but generally they still don't like you in their space," Cassandra told him. He gave her a look. "So I've heard," she added.

"Well, I'd say 'stand back and watch this'," said Jones, "but just in case he's still up there you'd better not. Just give me ten seconds..."

XXXX

"Hi, Eve Jones, party of four, booked in earlier today. NATO Counter Terrorism unit. Please don't freak out but there's a sniper on your roof and we need past right now," said Eve, the words falling from her mouth in quick succession like bullets from a machine gun. The startled National Trust volunteer glanced at the NATO badge with wide eyes and waved the pair through, making frantic gestures at her colleague on the other side of the hallway to lead the couple where they needed to go.

Accompanied by their guide, and collecting security men as they passed, Flynn and Eve made their way to the roof. The lead covering the rooftop was too cold at this time of year to have left any impressions. If their sniper had used the doorway they were at, he had left no sign of it. There were other doors though. Eve waved their entourage away. Silently ordering the security men to stay with the door. Others of their number had already been sent to the other two doors. With only Flynn beside her, Eve turned to the roof.

"You have no weapon," she whispered. "You should stay with the guards, or go see if you can find some security camera footage."

"And leave you here alone?" Flynn retorted. "I won't even dignify that with an answer."

"Thought not," she muttered. "Stay close."

"Always."

XXXX

"How can you possibly prefer an Andy Warhol to a Vermeer?" Stone exclaimed. "He's important, sure. He brought the whole field of art and illustration out into the twentieth century. He revolutionised printing as an art form and he made pop art what it is today. But if I wanted to buy a serigraph, I'd go looking for someone like Woody Crumbo. If I wanted to buy an image of the Mona Lisa, it wouldn't be Warhol's!"

"But he was innovative!" Leonardo argued. "He created a new genre of art. Nobody thought of doing things the way he did, before he did them. He had the spark of creation that a real artist needs. Not just the ability to copy features and landscapes, but the ability to change the way we see those features and landscapes. The ability to see the simplistic beauty in a can of soup! The courage to use colour in a way it had not been used before. He was the Van Gogh of his time!"

"Van Gogh was a genius!" Stone cut in. "He was unique. There is no-one like Van Gogh."

"All great artists are unique," da Vinci waved away the comment. "All are genii, in their own unique way. Take Picasso..."

"I'd rather take Dali," muttered Stone.

"Him too," continued Leonardo. "Dali, Picasso, Monet, Degas, Gauguin, Hunt, Millais, Rosetti, Caravaggio, Michaelangelo, Raphael, Botticelli, Canaletto, Titian, Rubens, Van Dyke, Cavallino, Giotto, Tintoretto, all of them! How can you, the critic, tell the difference between a landscape of Camille Pissaro or that of William Turner? Between the fantasies of Bosch and Rousseau? A portrait by Rembrandt or by Holbein? It is precisely because they are unique that you can identify them. Each one has the creativity, the skill and the courage to make their own mark on the artistic world. Their own, individual, utterly unique mark. And that is what marks out their genius."

"You certainly seem to have kept your eye on the art world, wherever you've been hiding," Stone commented.

"Not hiding, my boy," corrected Leonardo, sharply. "Living. Free to study my own art as much as that of others. You may have studied to become an art historian, young man, some of us lived it!"

XXXX

Baird held out a hand, holding Flynn back behind her. He didn't argue. He knew better. They had searched the roof methodically from one end to the other. There had been no trace of their shooter. With a motion for him to stay still, Baird moved forward around the last corner. Nothing.

"Clear!" Baird called out. Flynn was at her side looking down over the edge in an instant. She pointed down at a chip in the edge of the parapet. "You think this is what Cassandra was looking at when Jones spotted the gun?"

"I assume you mean the roof, not the chip," replied Flynn. "Impossible as it is to see damage to the top a roof like this from below."

"You assume correctly," Eve smiled, relaxing a little.

"I would say that is a fairly probable conclusion, then," mused the Librarian. "An adult male body pushed with force from this height would certainly arc out further. Depending on the force, he would have landed more or less where our victim did."

"More to the point, if we know he came from this direction, where else could he have fallen from?" Baird pointed downward. "There's no ledge. Nobody could have walked along there then had a physical fight with someone and been pushed so far out. The momentum would have taken both over, probably without either of them even trying."

"There's the windows," suggested Flynn, looking down.

"None are broken," replied Baird. "What are the chances they open wide enough to send someone out of them at speed?"

"If I know my National Trust, probably pretty good," said Flynn. "They usually take reasonably good care of their properties. Never mind that, though: we have a new problem."

Eve looked where Flynn was pointing. The tide was in. The beach below was entirely cut off. "Cassandra?" Baird shouted down. "Jones?"

A baseball cap was waved at them from under a rock ledge. Baird felt her phone buzz. It was Jones.

"No luck with the gunman then?" Ezekiel's voice grinned through the phone.

"None," Baird stated. "The tide is in. Hold tight and we'll get a rope down to you."

"No need," the voice continued grinning. "We've made our own entertainment, as they say. We'll come up through the tunnels."

"The haunted tunnels?" Baird flicked the phone onto speakerphone.

"Ezekiel, do not try using the haunted tunnels," ordered Flynn. "They're locked for a reason. There has been more than one cave in there. You do not want to get trapped."

"Well, somebody's been using them," the thief returned. "I headed straight for the biggest lock, thinking it would be easiest to break through the rust on, and I find somebody has been there before me! It took me half the time I thought it would to pick it! We were just waiting to hear from you first. Didn't want to pass on the message in the middle of a fire fight!"

"Jones, do not use those tunnels!" Baird ordered. "You have no idea where you're going. You are going to get the pair of you trapped!"

"Chhhh... What's that, Colonel? Chhhh..." Ezekiel replied. "Can't quite chhhhh... You're breaking up chhhhh."

"What did Colonel Baird say?" Cassandra asked, eyeing the young man suspiciously.

"She'll meet us on the other side," lied Jones.


	30. For the Ghost, Chapter 5

"You do realise we're just in ordinary caves," whispered Cassandra, shining the light of her torch ahead of her and keeping her free arm firmly linked with Ezekiel's. "It was the magic of the labyrinth that helped me make the map in my head last time."

"You have a photographic memory," grinned Ezekiel, looking over at her through his goggles. "Surely you can remember what way you walked?"

"Yes, a photographic memory is a great help, but not in the dark," she hissed back, waving the torch around to emphasise the narrowness of its beam. "And you seem to think I have an inbuilt compass in my brain too!"

"Why are you whispering?" Jones giggled. "Scared the ghost's gonna get ya?"

"It's not a malevolent ghost!" Cassandra whisper-shouted.

"Then why are you whispering?" Jones grinned back.

"It's a cave," she pointed out. "There might be bats here. At this time of year, some bats hibernate. We shouldn't wake them. It could damage their hibernation pattern and cost them valuable energy that they need to survive the winter months."

"Plus you're scared of bats," smirked Ezekiel.

"I am not!"

"Are too!"

"Am not!"

"Did you hear that?"

Cassandra shone the torch upwards to illuminate their faces, dragging him to a stop and turning him to face her. The look he saw on her face spoke volumes. "Ezekiel, don't!"

"I swear I heard something," the thief hissed, flipping up the filter with his free hand. "Not pipes, a person. Get over to the side, there, and turn the light off."

They hurried over to the edge of the tunnel, wedging themselves behind a fallen boulder and switching the torch off. Soon Cassandra heard the noise too. A scattering of pebbles underfoot. The heavy breath of someone who had been running. Running down from a roof top, perhaps?

"How did you..." Cassandra managed to whisper before Jones clamped a hand over her mouth. She could feel the muscles in his body next to her tense, then relax again. This was Ezekiel Jones, World Class Thief. He didn't do punchy. Instead, he ran, and he hid. And he was a master of both. She let her body relax, as he had, carefully moulding into the form of the rocks behind her. Taught muscles become tired muscles, and tired muscles fatigue and give way. Better to find a spot where you can relax into your hiding place and not risk a drooping arm or leg or back hitting something that might make a noise.

The pebbly footsteps grew closer, and with them came a light. It was a bright light, much more powerful than the torch on her phone. It swept over the rocks above them and down to the boulder. Cassandra couldn't help but hold her breath, although she didn't even notice a hitch in Ezekiel's. The light moved on. The footsteps died away. Cassandra let out her breath like air from a leaky tyre. She felt Ezekiel press a finger to her lips, as he would his own if she could see him. Don't speak. Not yet.

Echoing back from the mouth of the cavern, she heard a voice. She couldn't make out its words. She could barely make out that it was male, although it might have just been a deep-voiced woman. She waited. The voice stopped. She waited. Ezekiel removed his finger from her lips.

"You can talk now," he said. "But keep it low."

"Is he gone?" Cassandra whispered, as quietly as possible.

"I think he may be," Jones replied sotto voce. "He told the top dog we weren't here. He'll be heading round the cliff to find out if we left that way."

"So we should try and get back to the castle through these tunnels now, before he works it out," nodded Cassandra. "You should probably take the lead."

Jones unfolded himself from his hiding place without dislodging anything larger than dust. He held out a hand, found Cassandra's, and helped her up. "And when we get home remind me to train you to talk quietly."

"I am talking quietly," Cassandra replied.

"You were, there," smiled Jones.

XXXX

Baird dispensed the security guards to their various outposts. She had been shown to their suite of rooms on the top floor, with Flynn in tow of course, and had set up a command post there. The table in the centre of the seating area held blueprints and maps of the castle and its lands. The hotel part of the castle wasn't large, but it was packed. Of the six suites available, all were taken, mostly by high ranking archaeologists linked to the wedding party, or members of the bride and groom's family. The suite Jones had booked, somehow, was the largest: the Eisenhower. It's main bedroom held the largest bed Eve had ever seen, and the adjoining dressing room held two more singles. The comfortable, overstuffed armchairs by the sea view window clashed with the sense of urgency and movement that surrounded the table between them. The castle security force was larger than usual because of the wedding, and some of the names attending it, but it was still nowhere near large enough to deal with the sheer size of the castle grounds. They had closed all exits from the castle as soon as Eve had first raised the alarm, guides shepherding visitors into enclosed areas where stories of the Kennedy family could be used to regale them until the crisis was over, but there was nothing they could do if the sniper was already out. The estate lands spread far and wide. Far too far and far too wide to patrol effectively.

"What are these?" Flynn asked, pointing down at a wheel like item on the building plans from his perch on the arm of Eve's chair.

"Old spiral staircases from the original Robert Adam plans," said the estate manager, seated in the chair opposite. "There's one at either end turret, but the other two in the centre are blinds. Adam loved symmetry."

"It's a shame we didn't have an expert on architecture with us," said Flynn idly. "He could point out all the possible hidden hidey holes and such."

"There are certainly plenty stories, Mr Lethbridge-Stewart," said the manager. "Tales of Kennedy earls hiding from the English during the Jacobite rebellion. Ghost stories and tales of smugglers. Nothing has ever been found."

"Ghost stories, really?" Flynn flashed a charming smile. "I would love to hear those."

"Oh they're for the children, really," the manager waved a hand. "The castle has at least seven ghosts, some with detailed and mysterious backgrounds, others who are simply vague legends of a bygone time."

"Nevertheless..." Flynn began.

"I think we've got all we need for now," cut in Baird. "Thank you, ma'am. We'll take it from here."

"Oh, of course," the manager, slightly taken aback at the Colonel's brusque tone, rose. "If you need anything else just dial reception and ask for me."

Baird watched her go, the door swinging closed behind her with a click. "Right, we need Stone," she said, as soon as she was sure she and Flynn were alone. "You're right, there could be any number of hidden passageways in this place. Assuming our shooter didn't leave by the usual exits, and it doesn't look from the eyewitness reports and camera feeds that he did, he must have gone through one of them. If the tunnels do lead to the house, they must have an exit here too. We need to find both. We need our expert."

"I'll make the call," nodded Flynn, reaching for his cell. "You should have let me get the ghost stories though."

"We've already got the ghost stories," Baird shook her head. "Ezekiel and Cassandra got those back in the Library."

XXXX

"This is ridiculous," grinned Jacob Stone. "Man, I still can't believe I'm sitting here, arguing about art with Leonardo da Vinci. The real Leonardo da Vinci! Is there anything we have agreed on?"

"I believe we are both admirers of Van Gogh's work," replied the old man. "We're admirers of them all, by our very nature, but there at least we agree on the reasons why."

Stone's phone rang. He visibly sagged, his shoulders drooping and the smile that had lit his features fading from view. He answered it.

"How soon can you get here?" Flynn's voice asked. "Set the door to Eve's tracker, not Cassandra's."

"Why?" Stone's shoulders dropped further. He could feel his heart quicken. "Where's Cassie?"

"She's fine, she's with Ezekiel," soothed Flynn. "I'm sorry to drag you away from da Vinci, but he's not going anywhere and we need you here."

"I'll be there in five," said Stone, his voice returning to the businesslike gruffness of days gone by.

It was closer to two minutes when he walked through the main door of the Eisenhower Suite. He made a bee line for Baird and Flynn, still sitting by the window, and sat down in the chair vacated by the estate manager.

"What's going on?" Stone asked, peering down at the plans and blueprints on the table between them. "That's Robert Adam's handwriting. That's an Adam staircase. This... Is this Culzean castle? Are we in Culzean castle? Where exactly are we?"

"Eisenhower Suite, top floor," said Flynn. "And we need you to look at these plans and tell us if there are any hidden passageways. We need a way into the tunnels down to the shore and a possible exit from the castle."

"One hidden passage shouldn't be too hard to find," said Stone, turning the plans towards him.

"One?" Baird looked from Stone to Flynn and back again. The penny dropped. "Of course: a way out is also a way in and vice versa."

"Sorry," said Flynn quietly. "Didn't want to worry you when there was nothing you could do."

"It's my job to worry!" Eve snapped. "Whether I can do something or not!"

"Now I'm worried," said Stone, watching them with narrowed eyes. "Why are we worrying? What's going on?"

"There was someone on the roof," explained Baird, her voice softening as she spoke. "He, or she, had a gun. They took a shot at Jones and Cassandra down on the beach, looking round where the murder victim we're investigating landed. They're both fine. Jones saw the gun in time and got Cassandra out of the line of fire. The shooter kept them pinned down long enough for the tide to come in and cut them off, though, so they're trying to find a way up through the tunnels that used to be used by smugglers. We came in here and got ourselves taken up to the roof. There was nobody there by that point, though I think we found where the dead guy went over. We claimed the rooms Jones had booked for us and sent the local security out in search of our shooter while we try to figure out how he, or she, could have got out of the castle without being caught on camera or spotted by staff. We also need to figure out how to open up the other end of the tunnels that Cassandra and Jones are by now stuck in thanks to the rising tide. Which may be haunted, by the way."

"Was Cassie hit?" Stone asked, watching Baird's face intently.

"No," Baird shook her head. "Jones got to her in time."

"Okay," Stone looked back to the plans. He squinted at the cursive writing of the architect, then pointed at one of the rooms. "We start here."

"That was fast!" Flynn commented with a slight frown.

"Adam loved a lot of things in architecture," explained Stone. "One of them was symmetry. Another was libraries. That's the original Adam library. There's a turret with a spiral staircase leading from one corner of the room, and a turret without one leading from another. I say we start with that one."


	31. For the Ghost, Chapter 6

Cassandra and Ezekiel had been walking, and in some cases climbing, for what felt like hours. They edged around a corner and Ezekiel stopped. Cassandra, still linked arm in arm with him, but following slightly behind because of the now narrower passageway, cannoned into the back of him.

"What?" Cassandra whispered in the thief's ear. She edged around the corner and scanned the barely illuminated part of the tunnel ahead of her. She could see nothing unexpected.

Ezekiel removed his unconventional headgear and deposited it on her head. "See for yourself."

Cassandra adjusted the goggles to sit properly over her eyes and looked up. "Oh," she blinked. "Oh wow. Now what?"

Standing in front of them, bagpipes tucked neatly under one arm, was a kilted piper. You could tell he was a real ghost, rather than some out-of-phase victim of electrical experiments. It wasn't so much the fact that his feet were hidden by the fallen rocks that had partly filled the passageway. Nor was it the fact that he could only be seen with the special filters on the goggles. It was more the fact that he was missing a rather large chunk of his skull that gave the game away. Cassandra closed her eyes, but the grisly apparition tended to stick in one's mind.

"You're the ghost expert," murmured Jones, leaving the goggles on her head. "What do you think we should do?"

"Back away slowly?" Cassandra suggested. "He doesn't look angry, though, just sad. Maybe we should try talking to him?"

"I vote we go with your first suggestion," said Jones. "He's a ghost. Last ghost I met tried to kill me. In fact, all the undead things I've met have tried to kill me!"

"Yes, but there is a common factor there," Cassandra reminded him.

"Yeah, the whole lack of being fully dead for one!" Ezekiel huffed.

"Not the one I was thinking of, but let's just go with it anyway," she replied. "Okay, shine that torch back this way and we'll try that side tunnel we passed three metres ago."

"I thought you couldn't build a map?" Jones asked, turning his back on the ghost and leading Cassandra, plus goggles, back the way they had just walked.

"Doesn't mean I can't judge how far I've walked, or the turns I've taken," the redhead corrected him. "Just means I can't predict what might be coming up ahead of us."

"I can live with that," the thief nodded. "That's still one way out of here."

They turned up the side tunnel and followed it. There was a sharp right turn, then a left, then the tunnel began to wind in circuitous curves. Before long, even Cassandra had no idea which way she was pointing. They rounded another bend and the torch light fell on a pile of fallen rubble.

"Great!" Jones exclaimed. "Now we need to go all the way back. You didn't see any side tunnels on the way did you?"

"None," Cassandra shook her head. "You?"

"None," sighed Jones, turning them round. "Plan B it is. Choose your words carefully, Librarian, because they're gonna be spoken to a dead man!"

XXXX

Getting Stone to the library didn't take as long as Eve thought it might have. There was a sense of urgency about him that she hadn't seen since before Cassandra's tumour had been healed. No, that wasn't true. She had seen it since. She had seen it in Nepal. Jones hadn't been there, hadn't seen the rock and snow crushed bodies, hadn't listened to the cries grow fainter as they raced to reach a buried villager in time. He hadn't seen the broken bodies, signing death warrants before the rescuers even had a chance to reach them. If he had, maybe he would have understood why she had ordered him not to go clambering around in a maze of unstable tunnels, dragging Cassandra with him into harm's way.

"These are the doors to the two turrets?" Stone asked, indicating the two doors on the landward side of the external wall. They were both marked 'Staff Only'. Without waiting for answer or permission, Stone headed straight for the door to the corner turret and pulled it open. A vacuum cleaner sat neatly below the spiral staircase. He removed it.

"Tell me what you're looking for," said Flynn, crouching down beside him. "Let us help."

"I don't know what I'm looking for exactly," Stone replied, his eyes still scanning the space methodically. "I'll know it when I see it though, I hope."

Flynn stepped back and watched as the cowboy scrutinised the base of the staircase. It was the longest he had remained still and quiet since hearing of the gunshot. Eventually, he finished his study of the one turret and moved immediately to the other. The other tower, not being on the corner of the final building, did not have stairs climbing upwards. It was also being used as a cleaning cupboard. He emptied it.

Eve joined Flynn. "He's a little more... taciturn than usual."

"The love of his life is currently trapped in unstable tunnels with Ezekiel Jones, a gunman, and a ghost," replied Flynn. "I'm not sure which of those three worries him more."

"That's not fair," murmured Eve. "Jones adores Cassandra. He'd never let any harm come to her. You saw him on the beach."

"Yes, _I_ did," agreed Flynn. "Stone didn't. Besides, I don't think it's Ezekiel's intentions he doubts so much now as his ability. He knows how much Cassandra means to him, he just still seems to think Ezekiel's instincts will always be to protect himself over someone else."

Stone bounded up from the floor of the turret and around the room, scanning the original Adam features.

"I do hope we didn't ruin the wedding with all this running around after gunmen," Flynn mused, watching Stone checking every inch of the walls.

"We haven't even got a date for the wedding yet, officially," replied Eve, her brow wrinkling. "All we've got so far is the first weekend in April some time, and a couple of possible venues."

"And your dress, of course," added Flynn.

"Of course," nodded Eve.

"I meant the wedding here though," he continued. "The one Emily is here for, and Professor Wilkins' colleague."

"About Emily..." Eve began.

"It was ten years ago, let it go," sighed Flynn.

"But it was something, right?" Eve persisted. "End well, did it? I mean, who left who?"

"Whom."

"Not a good place to start," she warned.

"Circumstances brought us together," he sighed. "When those circumstances changed, so did we. She went back to her archaeology work. I went back to the Library. At the time, I would have liked for her to come with me, but it would have been a mistake."

"Why?"

"We were too alike. It wouldn't have worked," he shrugged. "I had a lot in common with her, but the gaps that were there in my life were the same as the gaps in hers, more often than not. If a relationship is going to last, you need someone who fills those gaps. Someone who completes you. Like you complete me."

"Good answer, Librarian," Eve smiled at the obvious endearment.

"Why thank you, Guardian," Flynn smiled back, wrapping an arm around her waist.

"Found it!" Stone called, interrupting the tender moment going on behind him. When Flynn and Eve turned to him, he was standing by the fireplace. "Adam was no fool," continued Stone. "He knew fashions change and rooms change with them. He was right: almost everything in this room has been changed. Who bothers to change the back of a fireplace though?"

His hand reached into the chimney piece and up. There was a sound like a stone sarcophagus being opened from the inside, and the dark interior of the fireplace seemed to get darker. Flynn hurried over and helped Stone remove the now purely decorative grate. One corner of the back of the hearth had opened up. Stone switched on the torch on his phone and aimed its bright beam at the darkness. A corridor of stone-cut steps descended into the space between the library and the curved wall of the old dining room. The two rooms may have had their functions switched a hundred years or so after their completion, but the curve of the wall had remained, creating a space between the two rooms where a stairway could be hidden.

"It'll be a squeeze, especially for all three of us," said Stone.

"Just one," Baird corrected him. "I'm the guardian. I have the gun. I'm going after them, and the gunman."

"I'm coming with you," both men cried out immediately.

"Stone, I need you to stay here in case this thing closes," replied Baird, removing her jacket and handing it to Flynn. "Flynn, I need you to try and answer the one question we've all forgotten about in all this excitement."

"Which is?" Flynn eyed her suspiciously.

"Why?" Baird said simply. "We've been so side-tracked by getting Cassandra and Jones back to safety we've forgotten to ask why we're here. If our murder victim was thrown from the roof by an actual person, not a ghost, as it now seems, why call us in? If it's not the means, or the murderer, it must be the motive. Find out why our dead guy died, find out why we're here."

XXXX

Cassandra tightened her grip on Ezekiel's arm. "He's here," she said, pointing a finger at the small pile of fallen rocks they had returned to. "He's watching us."

"How do you know he's not just staring in this direction?" Jones asked. "Maybe he does that all the time."

"He's moved from last time," replied Cassandra. "I'm going to try asking him something."

"Be my guest, Melinda," said Jones, waving a hand in the direction of the ghostly piper.

Cassandra stepped toward the ghost. "Can you hear me?"

The ghost's eyes turned to her.

"Can you speak?"

The ghost's eyes dropped to the floor, his face sombre as the grave.

"I'll take that as a 'no' then," murmured Cassandra. "Can you help us get out of here? Back up to the castle preferably, not the beach."

This time, the ruined head nodded downward once, the arm extended, pointing a finger along the narrow, half-filled passageway beyond him, and the piper began to march.

XXXX

"Emily!" Flynn called, jogging across the sun-warmed orangery. The woman in red turned.

"Flynn!" Emily called back, waking over sedately to meet him. "Where is the lovely Eve? Not lost her down some deep dark hole here have you?"

Flynn paused, only for a moment, but it was enough for Ms Davenport to remove the smile from her face.

"What's happened?" Emily asked, reaching out a hand to Flynn's arm. "This is work, isn't it? There's something here."

"Long story. Yes. Don't know," Flynn answered in sequence. "You've been here longer than I have. I need to know if you've noticed anything... anything odd. Library-odd."

"Like what? Crystal skulls? Books by King Solomon? Masonic signs? Give me a rough area, Flynn," replied the archaeologist. "Am I looking for a place, person or piece?"

"I don't know," the Librarian repeated. "Two of my colleagues were investigating a murder down at the beach and someone took a shot at them from the roof. Eve's busy dealing with that. I'm trying to find out why someone would throw a man off the roof of a popular Scottish castle, that's always busy, even at night now, and then risk discovery by shooting someone investigating the crime scene."

"So it's something worth killing for," Emily's brow wrinkled. "And that's supposed to narrow it down?"

Flynn shrugged. "It's all I've got to go on so far."

"Most of the people here today are guests for the wedding or just plain tourists," she pointed out. "I know a lot of the wedding guests professionally, of course, and we're all here for a few days. Apparently when the father of the bride is a business billionaire, you can afford to hire the entire accommodation facilities of a picturesque National Trust estate for the entire run up to the wedding and a day or two after it to recover! We're all booked in for nearly a week, most of us in chalets and the big names up in the castle itself. They've taken over the whole place. If someone was going to look for a relic or magical item here, being part of that guest list would be ideal. Even more so if you could wrangle a room in the main building."

"So we're looking for an evil archaeologist with a yen for something mythical with links to Scottish castles, probably this one," summed up Flynn. "Anyone spring to mind? Any local myths being discussed?"

Emily considered this. "Well," she said. "Everyone is talking to everyone else about lots of things: the digs they're working on; their latest find; the trouble with funding. I've overheard a few conversations about local topics. I remember joining in with a conversation about the latest theories regarding Skara Brae. That was interesting. There was another discussion at cocktails last night about the Stone of Destiny, but that's in Edinburgh Castle, now, not here. Then there was the discussion I overheard this morning about the remains of a Viking longboat wrecked near Largs, just up the coast from here."

"Viking?" Flynn cut in.

"Yes, they're all over Scotland," she replied, "More so up north, and especially around the Orkney and Shetland isles, but down here too. Ayrshire has a particularly strong Viking connection, thanks to Largs."

"Can you point me in the direction of the people who started those conversations?" Flynn asked. "Especially that last one."

Emily wrote down a few names for him in a notepad, described the individuals in questions and pointed out the ones she could see. Flynn took the scrap of paper, thanked her, kissed her cheek, and disappeared among the foliage.

XXXX

Baird made her way quietly through the dark tunnel. The bright beam from her flashlight, which was easier to hold than a phone while trying to point a gun, cut through the darkness to reveal rocks, dust and more darkness. She tried to make her footfalls silent, but settled for only the occasional rolling pebble. She was listening for everything, friend or foe.

The sound of scattering stone stalled her. She paused, foot midway through it's step, and listened. There it was again: a shuffling sound, like some strange, four legged beast. The tunnel extended only a short distance before her, then turned sharply. Whatever was coming towards her, and it was definitely moving towards her, was around that corner. She placed her feet in a fighting stance, and steadied both gun and flashlight, aiming at the rock wall by the turn.

The four legged creature shuffled into view. It had big orange eyes and bright red hair. It also wore a short, floral print frock and had an Ezekiel Jones attached to one arm.

Baird lowered the gun. "You two, Thank goodness!" Eve exclaimed. "We've been worried sick. We thought the shooter was in the tunnels with you."

"He was, we hid," replied Cassandra cheerfully.

"You did, did you," sighed Baird. "And he didn't spot you."

"Ezekiel showed me how to hide like a thief," Cassandra grinned.

"I bet Stone's going to love hearing that story," grinned Jones.

"You two look ridiculously pleased with yourselves," said Baird, her eyes narrowing. "What else aren't you telling me?"

Cassandra and Ezekiel looked at each other. Cassandra decided to take the lead. "We made friends with the ghost."

"You made friends with the what now?" Baird's eyes widened.

"With the ghost of the piper, from the legend," Cassandra explained. "We met him down by an old rock fall. That's what killed him, by the way. He's buried under there, bagpipes and all. We should tell someone in charge so they can go dig him up and bury him properly, then he can maybe get some rest."

"Of course you did, Egon," sighed Baird. She turned, shining her flashlight back along the path she had just walked. "Okay, let's get out of here, and bring Venkman with you."

XXXX

"Stone!" Flynn called, walking through the new library to the old one. "Are they back yet?"

"I can see a light," the cowboy called back. "Someone's on their way."

"I have a few leads," returned Flynn, joining Jacob at the hearth.

"I should hope so!" Eve's voice called back from the tunnel. "Please tell me they're good ones!"

Stone reached out a hand as the light reached the end of the darkness and revealed Eve Baird's head. The two men helped her and her two giggling charges out of the fireplace.

"Hey, look at that," said Stone, picking up Cassandra and taking the goggles off her head. "My very own girl in the fireplace!"

"You were watching!" Cassandra giggled. "I knew you weren't just reading your book while Ezekiel and I had our little DVD marathon."

"Well, you seemed to like it, so I figured I'd give it a go," he shrugged. "Not a word to Jones though, right?"

"He saved my life, Jacob," said Cassandra softly. "Twice! Give him a break. He's not as selfish as you think he is."

Jacob kissed her dusty forehead. "Anything for you, darlin'."

"What leads did you get?" Baird asked Flynn, batting away his hand as he tried to straighten her hair.

"Three main ones. Of all the archaeology topics being discussed, and there are many, three stand out as having Scottish links. Skara Brae, although that's a bit far both temporally and spatially to be linked to here, The Stone of Destiny, but we know that's in Edinburgh castle, not this one, and the wreck of a Viking longboat just up the coast. Who knows what items may have been brought ashore from that. I think that's our best lead."

"Maybe, but you got one thing wrong," Jones piped up, brushing the dust from his clothes. "The Stone of Destiny isn't in Edinburgh castle. That's just the Stone of Scone. Nobody knows where the Stone of Destiny is."

"What?" Baird and Flynn said together.

"It's the Stone of Scone, where the Scottish monarchs were crowned, not the Stone of Destiny," Jones expanded. "The Scots knew the English were on their way, so they hid the real stone and replaced with another, quarried locally. The English took that one back to London, apparently unaware that red sandstone isn't quite as lasting as the real stone ought to have been, and obviously unaware of the legend that it was carved from a black meteorite anyway! The Scots have been thumbing their noses at the English ever since!"

Flynn stared at Ezekiel, wheels turning in his mind. Eve looked at him and read his features. "It's not the Vikings, is it?"

He shook his head. "We need to find out more about this legend," he decided. "Something that old, and that linked to a country and a people. Something imbued with so much mystery and history that it was used in the crowning of kings. That's our lead. That's what they're after."

"So we join the hunt," said Stone, his arms still wrapped around Cassandra. "Five of us against however many of them, I still say we've a shot at winning that race."

"Not five," said Jones. "We're going to need someone who knew the land then. Someone with more local knowledge. We need Jenkins, and we need him out in the field with us."

"That would mean leaving da Vinci in charge of the Library," commented Baird. "Are we sure that's a good idea?"

"He's an ex-Librarian. The Library seems to trust him," shrugged Flynn.

"Jenkins could show him how to use the door easily enough," agreed Stone. "The man is a genius after all."

"Then it's agreed," nodded Baird. "We go home, find out what we need to know about this Stone of Destiny and bring Jenkins up to speed."

"All six of us on a case together," nodded Flynn with a smile. "Should be fun."


	32. For the Stone, Chapter 1

The Library was a hive of activity. The central desk on the lower floor of the office had been taken over by a large map of Scotland and a similarly sized map of the world. There were pins in both. Cassandra and Jacob shared the large desk in the corner of the office. Baird sat at the desk she shared with Flynn. Ezekiel and Jenkins worked together up at the reading desks in the mezzanine. Flynn stood amidst the hustle and bustle beside the central desk, book in one hand and pin in the other.

"I've got a reference here to Tara in Ireland!" Stone called out.

"Ignore it!" Jenkins called down. "The Irish had their own Lia Fail. Got the idea from Colum in passing. Nothing more than an ancient PR stunt that became a legend."

"It would help to have an idea of what we're looking for," called up Cassandra. "So far all we've got is black meteorite with handles."

"And carvings," added Stone.

"And remind me who Colum is?" Baird asked.

"Colum MacFhelin MacFergus," replied Jenkins, "also known as Colum Cille, also known as Columba, now only known, apparently, as Saint Columba. A man so convinced of the veracity of his own opinions he got himself kicked out of his own country!"

"And took the stone of destiny with him to Iona, right," Baird nodded. "And did what with it? There were no kings crowned at Iona, were there?"

"No," said Jenkins, leaning over the railing to go through the tale. "The stone was sacred. Precious. It had been brought from the Holy Land and had passed into his keeping in France, I believe. He never did tell me all the details. Tours was mentioned though. I think it's the reason he abandoned his own pilgrimage and returned to Ireland. He used it as an altar. He would not let it out of his sight, even when he slept, hence the legend of the stone that became 'Columba's Pillow'. He did tell me that the stone had been sent from Heaven, and that it had provided its original owner with strange and prophetic visions. The original owner he told me, when pressed, was Jacob and one of the visions the famous ladder of angels. When he laid his head to rest on it, he said he could hear it whispering in his dreams. Those dreams became his prophecies. Some he shared with the world, others with me alone, others with no-one but himself."

"Did you know him well?" Jones asked, joining Jenkins at the balcony.

"Well enough," Jenkins nodded. "He travelled with me for a while, or I with him. He helped me move one or two items to the Library. Would never let me take the stone though. It was a gift from God that had been placed in his keeping, he said, and it had work to do before it could be locked away forever."

"One or two items such as what?" Flynn enquired, head tipped quizzically to one side as he looked up at the Caretaker.

"Well," smirked Jenkins, pushing himself up off the rail. "I believe you've met our resident plesiosaur."

Jones looked at the old man's receding back with something akin to awe. "No way!"

Flynn rubbed his chin and watched the pair disappear. He turned back to the others. "Did I tell you about the time I killed Dracula..."

"Doesn't beat catching Nessie," laughed Eve.

"Ooh, I've got one!" Cassandra blurted, pointing at the book in her hand. "Isle of Skye, in a cave!"

"That's a big island, relatively speaking," said Flynn, finding the island in question on the map of Scotland. "Can you narrow it down a bit?"

"There's a mention of something called the Cuillins," she replied, shaking her head, "but nothing more specific. Are there villages there called Cuillin?"

"No," called down Jenkins. "That's the name of the mountain range there."

"It's also from the same root as the name Culzean," mused Flynn. "I think we have our link."

"Good, because I'm coming up blank on our other theory," called out Jones, who had been given the task, shared with Baird as the only two qualified divers of the team, of tracking down the possible relics at the Viking wreck.

"Keep looking," ordered Baird. "It doesn't have to link to the castle to link to someone at the wedding there."

"Here's something," cut in Stone. "This manuscript says 'and the stone was hid beneath the castle' it looks like 'wall' next, but the page is burnt and that's all I've got."

"What manuscript is that?" Baird asked.

"Annals of the Kings of Scotland, in Gaelic and Old Scots, lastly in Middle English," Stone replied.

"Date?" Flynn asked.

"Variable," shrugged Stone. "It's been added to over centuries. I'd say this entry dated from somewhere in the late mediaeval period. Anywhere from the time of the crusades up to around the start of the fifteenth century."

"That's a sizeable time-slot," winced Flynn. "Still it's the latest we've got bar modern legends."

"It's also the last from my pile," sighed the art historian.

"I've got nothing older," said Cassandra, from the other side of their desk. "I gave anything I couldn't read to Jacob. All my texts are in modern English. Most of them are talking about different stones entirely. This one mentions the Stone of Scone, but it seems to be talking about the one we know about, in Edinburgh castle. This is the one that talks about the cave on Skye. This one is a history of the Wars of Independence. I thought that was us?"

"Many countries have wanted independence from England before we came along," Baird informed her. "I think Scotland probably wins the prize for sheer determination though."

"The Stone of Scone, the fake stone," called down Jenkins, "was removed by Edward Longshanks in twelve ninety six, when he deposed John Balliol, the last king of Scots to be crowned on the real Stone, and looted Scone Abbey. Balliol was held in the tower for three years then exiled to Normandy. He died there the same year as his 'Competitor's' grandson, Robert the Bruce, claimed his victory over Longshanks' son, Edward the second, at Bannockburn. Bruce had been crowned eight years previously at Scone, but it took another ten before he was officially recognised by the Pope."

"If he was crowned at Scone," said Flynn, leaning back against the central desk and resting his chin on his hand, "and we know that the real Stone of Destiny was in Scone just ten years previously, would it be reasonable to conclude that somebody living knew where it was? And that that someone may have brought it back to Scone for Bruce's coronation?"

"Reasonable," Jenkins nodded. "By no means certain. Guerilla warfare was rampant throughout Scotland in those ten years. Wallace leading the rebellion in the south, and Moray in the North, at least until he joined Wallace at Stirling Brig and got himself killed. There were battles and skirmishes throughout the rest of the intervening decade. Many lives were lost, on both sides."

"Let us hypothesise that the stone was returned to Scone for Bruce's coronation," began Flynn, pushing himself up off the desk and gesticulating like some ancient professor in his lecture theatre. "Bruce is crowned. The stone is taken back into hiding. But for some reason its old hiding place is no longer secure. There's still a war going on. Where would Bruce send it? He's in charge now. He's a seasoned warrior. Well, he's on his way to being one anyway. Where did he go after he was crowned? What castles would he have considered safe?"

"I have here that he went to the Hebrides," said Cassandra. "That would fit with the Skye theory. Dunvegan castle, Caisteal Maol, and Duntulm castle all date back that far, if not in their present forms. Dunvegan castle is the oldest continually inhabited castle in Scotland, with eight hundred years of being the main seat of the chief of the Clan MacLeod."

"Sounds safe to me," murmured Baird.

"Then they turned up at Turnberry castle in Ayrshire," Cassandra continued.

"Just down the coast from Culzean," interjected Flynn, looking at the map and placing another pin.

"Then up to Inverlochy castle, which he captured," she went on.

"Not safe," interrupted Baird.

"Same at Urquart castle," Cassandra continued. "Then he burned Inverness castle and went on to take bunch of other Scottish castles."

"Okay, so our two main possibilities so far are Dunvegan castle and Turnberry castle," nodded Flynn. "What about once things had settled down? Who did he trust?"

"His main allies were Andrew Moray, son of the Andrew Moray who died at Stirling Brig," said Jenkins from above, "and James Douglas, who burned his own castle to the ground for Bruce's cause. He was known as Good Sir James by Scots and the Black Douglas by the English he harried, and quite the character he was too!"

"I have here a record of one Joanna Murray marrying an Archibald Douglas in thirteen sixty two," said Stone, looking up from a book of Scottish clan histories. "Looks like she was descended from your Andrew Moray, and he from James Douglas. Once he married her he built a bunch of castles with her money, but the main two that get mentioned are her ancestral home at Bothwell castle, where they mostly lived, and Threave castle, where he died."

"The descendants of Bruce's two great supporters," mused Jenkins. "It can't be a coincidence, surely. I say we add Threave and Bothwell to the list."

"Done and done," said Flynn adding pins to the Scottish map. "That's four sites to check out between six of us," he continued. "One each if Eve and Ezekiel continue working on the Viking angle."

"No way!" Eve responded, dropping her book onto the table with a loud thud. "Not when we know there are other players out there! Nobody goes out alone on this one. Jones and I will take one, then we're free if the Viking thing needs looking into again. Stone and Cassandra can take one, you and Jenkins another, then whoever is done first can head for the fourth."

"Well, the furthest out is Dunvegan up on the isle of Skye," sighed Flynn, knowing better than to argue. "The other three are all on the mainland and in the lowlands, Threave being the furthest South of the trio and Bothwell the furthest North, almost due North in fact. Turnberry is off to the West of both of them and about equidistant between them."

"Jones and I will take Dunvegan. You and Jenkins take Threave. Cassandra and Stone take Bothwell," Baird decided. "Whoever is done first can take Turnberry. Not that it should matter if da Vinci is up for resetting the door whenever we call, but if we do need to use public transport I'd rather make the distance to the last one the shortest."

XXXX

The room was small, but so were all rooms of that period. The echoing effect of the spiral staircase meant that any additional feet or voices would be heard long before they reached the room. That was why they had chosen to meet there, after all. Through the narrow window, the cloudless sky above was turning a deep azure, fading to a pale gold near the horizon.

"Are you sure it was wise, allowing them to leave with such information," asked one voice from the growing shadows.

"Wise enough," said another from the window. "Librarians are curious creatures, and difficult to kill. Leave them be and they'll find our prize for us. They know someone else is after the stone. There are too many places it could be. They'll divide their forces to find it and then, when they do, there will be fewer successful Librarians to worry about when we take it off them."


	33. For the Stone, Chapter 2

On a lonely island, enshrouded by mists and surrounded by the dark waters of the river Dee, Threave Castle stood: a lonely sentinel, silent and stalwart, holding fast against the many ravages of time. Jenkins had been here once before, many, many years ago, as an ageing knight errant. It had been newly built then. A marvel in the area. A tower taller than any in Scotland had ever seen before. The life of the knight errant had passed almost into the mists of time even then, before a troubled soldier had met him, listened to his tales and retold them in a manner that tended to make Jenkins understand Holmes' view of Watson's fantastical tales. That had brought the errant life back into the romantic, wistful eye of those with more money than they knew what to do with, and less skill than the most menial of their servants, whom, Jenkins noted, most treated worse than they would a beggar on the street.

The age of chivalry had passed away long before its death knell was sounded, he thought. All that remained now was the vague idea that one should open doors for women. Nothing about the general respect for truth and justice and integrity and honour that had filled Arthur's court. Yes, Camelot was gone, and the people had earned the right to govern themselves, it was true, but sometimes there were parts of that time that he missed.

"Oh look! An osprey nest!" Flynn bobbed up and pointed at the top of a nearby tree.

Like a squire with an attention span longer than the average butterfly, Jenkins thought.

"Are ospreys particularly rare in this part of the world these days?" Jenkins sighed, knowing he was about to get an ornithological lecture the length of which would be the only thing he would remember.

"Actually, due to deliberate poisoning by farmers, and accidental poisoning by the pesticide DDT, or dichlorodiphenyltrichloroethane, they became extinct here in Britain in nineteen sixteen. They were re-colonised in nineteen fifty four when a pair of migrating Scandinavian birds decided to nest at Loch Garten further North, but didn't really take off again, no pun intended, until 'Operation Osprey' in nineteen seventy six stopped egg collectors collecting osprey eggs..."

"Mr Jenkins and Mr Carsen?"

Jenkins uttered a silent thank you to the heavens and turned to face the man approaching them in tweeds and a jacket emblazoned with the Historic Scotland logo. "We are they," he replied.

"I have the key for the boat here," said the man, whose name badge identified him as John Douglas. "We'll have you across in a jiffy. Will you be wanting to stay long?"

"I really couldn't say," replied Jenkins before Flynn could finish the word forming on his lips. "I believe it was a Douglas who built the castle. An ancestor of yours, perhaps?"

"Aye, it was built by a Douglas, but not one o' my kin," answered the man, shaking his head. "The main town is Castle Douglas. Historically surnames came from your father, your job or your hometown. Mine, we think, is from the latter. Granted, old Archibald the Grim, who built that grim place, had the same name, but ultimately through the same origins, not the same bloodline."

"It is quite forbidding, is it not?" Jenkins smiled, brimming with charm. "I appreciate your taking time out of your schedule to show us it."

"We are generally closed during the winter months, from November through until March," said John, unlocking the padlock on the rowing boat used to ferry visitors across. It had been brought out of its winter housing for the purpose. "But I believe I can make an exception for researchers such as yourself. It is at the site manager's discretion after all."

"Well, I thank you for it," beamed Jenkins.

The trip across the river Dee was uneventful, and they landed on the island easily. Jenkins and Flynn took their leave of the site manager with more thanks and the assurance they would call when they were ready to return.

"I apologise, Jenkins," said Flynn, once they were out of earshot. "I almost forgot we had agreed that you be the best-selling author."

"I cannot think why," replied Jenkins smoothly. "Now instead of being distracted by birds, as my younger sidekick usually is, tell me what you know already of Threave."

"Jones is an ornithologist?" Flynn asked, brows knitting together.

"No," said Jenkins with a sharp nod of his head. "Now how much do you know?"

"Built by Archibald the Grim, of the Black Douglas family, with his wife's money. Fortified in fourteen fifty by the eighth earl and only lost in fourteen fifty five due to bribery and corruption in the ranks.

"Something like that," Jenkins nodded. "When Archibald built this place it was the tallest tower in Scotland, and it was surrounded by an array of other buildings. Stables, forge, kitchens, hall, chapel. The usual paraphernalia. He spent most of his time at Bothwell, to begin with, but gradually began to find more and more of his time taken up by his Lordly duties in Galloway. Eventually it was his main stronghold. He died here, but you know that. Such a shame. Always looked down on because of the illegitimacy of his birth, even by the people he spent his life serving. He wasn't quite a 'real noble' because his mother hadn't been. So they said, anyway."

"You knew him?" Flynn looked over at the Caretaker as they made their way across the island to the castle.

"I met him once, here, not long after he built the place. He seemed pleasant enough," shrugged Jenkins. "Always worrying though, that he wasn't quite good enough. He had no idea how much better than most he actually was. Shame that."

"No mention of the stone, though, I take it?" Flynn asked.

"If there had been do you think I would have kept silent until now?" Jenkins growled. "No, he never mentioned the stone, but then why would he: he would have been sworn to secrecy, and I was just a stranger passing through on the hunt for something else."

"Something interesting?" Flynn's ears pricked up.

"Aren't they always?" Jenkins smirked.

"But you're not going to tell me," sighed the Librarian.

"You've been getting enough old war stories from Leo, you do not need mine," murmured the old man.

"There's always something left to learn," tried Flynn.

"And it will still be there tomorrow," smiled Jenkins.

XXXX

"Why do I always get the coldest ones?" Jones muttered, wrapping his jacket around him against the chill of the sea breeze.

"Hey, Flynn and I took that pyramid in Antarctica," retorted Baird. "And then there was that yeti that got stuck in this dimension. Volcano waking up due to unknown trigger in Iceland? Remember that?"

"Yeah, yeah: point taken," he sulked. "But come on: we had a choice! You could have picked the one by the English border."

"I picked the one with central heating," Baird replied, somewhat smugly, as they approached the main entrance. "Still wishing I'd picked the ruin in the middle of a river?"

"Mother knows best," Jones shrugged, following her inside.

"Not your mother!" Baird's voice echoed in the ancient stone porch.

"But that takes so much of the fun out of my Iceland jokes!" Jones complained.

Baird stopped so suddenly the thief almost disgraced his erstwhile profession by walking into her. She turned and gave him an utterly confounded look.

"Makes more sense if you watch a lot of British television," he admitted.

Ignoring the how, which it was usually better, legally speaking, not to know, Baird asked the question second-uppermost in her thoughts. "Why would you be watching British television? We live in the States."

"Doctor Who," began Ezekiel. "Miss Marple, Poirot, Morse, Lewis, Sherlock... Plus they have much more realistic soap operas than the States."

"There is no such thing as a realistic soap opera!" Baird forced out, shaking her head in bafflement and ringing the doorbell.

"I take exception to that statement!" Jones cried out, hammering on the ancient wooden doors.

"I don't care!" Baird called back.

The doors opened. A small, wizened woman, who looked like she'd come straight from a moorland in a Scottish Play, stood on the other side of the threshold. She looked at Baird. She looked at Jones. She narrowed her eyes at Jones and looked him up and down. She looked back to Baird.

"Castle's closed to visitors," barked the old woman with a islander's lilt. "Come back in April."

"We're from the Library," cut in Baird, one foot already blocking the door from shutting. "Galeas sent us."

The expression on the woman's face changed, first to even deeper suspicion, then to shock. She opened the door wider and ushered them in. She closed and locked the door behind them. She shepherded them through to a part of the hallway deeper inside the castle, away from prying eyes and ears at keyholes.

"Is this about the flag?" She asked in her strange lilt. "It hasn't been used again, you know. No matter what auld creaky says."

"Auld creaky?" Jones frowned.

"Aye, we always used to tease him that his bones creaked louder than his armour when I was young. He was old then, even as I am now, and I've lasted longer than I ought, let me tell you. Is he well?"

"Fighting fit," smiled Baird. "And you are?"

"Flora MacLeod, Caretaker of Dunvegan Castle, and housekeeper to the Clan Chief," announced the woman.

"MacLeod as in Clan MacLeod?" Baird frowned. "And you're the housekeeper?"

"I was matriarch of this clan for fifty years in my day," Flora replied. "Galeas is not the only one who has gone by many names in many lifetimes. What shall I call him now?"

"Jenkins," said Jones, watching the old woman as if she might turn him into a frog should he blink at the wrong moment.

"Hah!" Flora laughed, a short, sharp, brittle laugh. "One day, you must ask him where he came by that name! Not the name of a Celtic warrior that!"

"How did you two know each other?" Baird breathed, taken aback by the sense of history that filled the room.

"Ah, long story, old story," Flora waved the question away and led them to a room with some chairs and a table. She motioned for them to sit down. "Older than either of us would care to remember. For why did he send you?"

"We're looking for the Stone of Destiny," began Baird. "The real one."

"Bad guys are after it," added Jones. "We need to get there first."

"Aye that would have been after our time," Flora mused, lost in memories that crossed the passage of centuries. "De Brus came here, after his crowning, but no stone did he bring with him. I would have known."

"Do you know anything that can help us?" Baird pleaded.

"I know many things of that ilk, lassie," chortled the crone. "Not that you'll be needing them for a while though. Come, I'll show you that which I do know. At least of the stone of kings."

XXXX

Bothwell Castle rose majestically from the steep banks of the river Clyde. Cassandra wobbled on the rough terrain and Jacob instinctively steadied her. They had walked a good distance from the battered old hide their door had opened out of, set up along the banks of the Clyde where the water fowl could most easily be watched. The path had been muddy and beset with tree roots and rocks. Cassandra was sure her boots were ruined.

"Okay, I can see the castle," she huffed, craning her neck to look up at the weather worn russet walls. "How do we get to it?"

"We follow the path, darlin'," Jacob laughed, pointing out the way ahead through the bare branches of the trees. "That path will take us round the castle and up the hill. That's what our friendly neighbourhood dog walker told us. Follow the path past the castle then up the hill. Go through the gate, across the field and you'll come out by the car park. Can't miss it."

"I wish I'd worn my other boots," she sighed.

"You always say that," he reminded her. "Next pair you buy, for work, I'm coming with you."

"You always say _that_!" Cassie countered.


	34. For the Stone, Chapter 3

Eve Baird stood looking out of the window of the great castle. Flora had hobbled off to make some tea. Jones was sufficiently in awe of, or sufficiently terrified by, the old woman to be more or less sitting on his hands, so she had no need to worry about him wandering off with the Chief's favourite heirloom. She stirred as feet were heard in the hall outside. The door opened to admit a woman of about Eve's own years, perhaps a little older, with nut brown hair streaked with silver that fell in a braid to the middle of her back. She was carrying a tea tray, and was followed by Flora with a plate of shortbread.

"This is Mhairi, the eldest daughter of my line," said Flora. "She knows my secrets. It is the tradition, hereabouts, that the eldest daughter shall know the secrets of the Caretaker should she be called upon to take up the mantle. Mine is what you might call an hereditary condition, in a way. A family calling. Throughout their lives each daughter of my lineage is taught the clan legends. Fairy stories, all of them, of course. Only when one heiress passes on is the next told how much of each story is true."

"Is this place like the Library, then?" Jones asked, sitting notably upright and still.

"No, laddie, nothing like that," Flora crooned. "The Library was created to contain all the magic of the world, throughout history. This castle is merely a kitchen cupboard compared to that. No, we concern ourselves only with the affairs of the Clan, and the Friends of the Clan."

"Friends like Jenkins?" Jones asked.

"Indeed not, my lad," grinned Flora. "Indeed not. And don't let him catch you saying so!"

"But I thought..." Jones' brow crinkled, but the old woman's marble hard stare ground him into silence.

"Galeas is well known here and well liked, by myself more than any other for-by that I know him personally. But as much as he may be a friend of my own self, my daughters and the castle, he is not what we mean when we say a Friend of the Clan, and well he knows the difference. May it be one day you do likewise."

"This is about the Fairy Flag," breathed Eve. "They're the Friends you mean, aren't they?"

Flora nodded. "The MacLeods of Skye have a long history with the bean sidhe, the fairy folk as you say; a history that goes back further than the name itself. Much further than our history with Galeas. He never did approve, but it was not my place to alter it. We fought it out many's a winter night by a warm grate."

"But if you are only concerned with the Clan and the fairy folk, you wouldn't have anything to do with the stone?" Baird asked.

"That we would not," Flora nodded. "But this I can tell you of the man who would hide it at least. He was a single-minded, curmudgeon of a buffoon. Kingly in all things, especially that! He came here to beg use of the Fairy Flag. Our flag. He tried to compel the Clan Chief of the time to use it against the English. Claimed he would denounce him as no true Scot if he held back the one thing that would grant him victory. Of course he laughed in the stubborn, idiotic man's face. He was no true Scot. He was a Norseman! An Islander! Descendant of King Harald! He would hold his allegiance to the land, not the man, and hold fast he did. The new king was made to listen and to see the truth of things, and much learning of government did he get from his time here. He took himself home again, to the mainland and the lowlands, and fought his battles there. It took time, but fighting a war always does. Winning it took courage, tactics, experience, local knowledge and the sheer bloody-mindedness I told him then was his greatest quality. He was minded then to call me an auld witch, a spider weaving it's web of fate. I don't believe it was the last time he thought of me as such."

XXXX

"The manuscript Stone found said the Stone would be hidden beneath the castle wall," called Flynn as the two men spread out around the ruined walls of the castle. "Stone's information about the Stone. Because that won't get confusing _at all_!"

"Worse if you include it's original owner," called back Jenkins. "The walls have changed somewhat since my last visit, I'm afraid, but the improved version is notably thicker than the original. To sink the foundations they would surely have dug up something of interest."

"They might have just through it was an old druidic stone and left it be," replied Flynn. "Or built it into the wall itself, or its foundations."

"Unlikely," mused Jenkins, scratching his chin. "Any local mason finding a stone like that would have applied to the laird himself for instructions, and even then would think twice about building with or around it."

"So you're saying it's not here?" Flynn asked, walking round the rest of the wall to meet the old man. "I thought you said you didn't know?"

"I said I didn't know if Archibald had hidden it," replied Jenkins in his usual sedate manner. "I can tell you he did not hide it under these walls."

"But you cannot tell whether or not he might have hidden it under the walls of the tower itself, say?" Flynn continued the thought for him. "How does the tower compare?"

"Shorter," said Jenkins, with an expressive shrug.

Flynn looked deflated. He glared at Jenkins. "Fine, let's go inside," he huffed. "You can tell me where they put the dinner table."

Jenkins smirked as the Librarian turned on his heel and headed for the tumbled down tower. "One flight up from the entrance, right above the kitchens," he reminisced to himself. "And the smell of those kitchens was enough to make your belly think your throat'd been cut!"

XXXX

Stone and Cassandra had paid their entrance fee with the rest of the public and were taking the opportunity of a lull in the trickle of winter visitors climbing the short staircase to the great hall to look out across the inner yard of the castle. Scaffolding around the great round tower at the opposite end, called the donjon, obscured part of the view, but they could still get a reasonably good idea of the layout of Archibald the Grim's castle. Well, his wife's castle, anyway.

They had walked around the inner yard already: looking down into the dry bottom of the moat around the donjon; guessing where the divides between the cluster of small shops and buildings along the back wall might have gone; pointing out the differences in the architecture of the chapel, whose walls alone remained, and that of the rooms above and below it. They had investigated every nook and cranny of the red sandstone at ground level, and now up at the level of the great hall too. That left only the donjon.

"It must have been quite something," mused Cassandra, leaning back into Jacob as they looked out from the largest and oldest window of the great hall. "Once upon a time, all in its heyday, people going back and forth living their everyday lives."

"Difficulty would be picking when exactly that heyday was," murmured her boyfriend, wrapping his arms closer around her. "Was it the original building, back in Moray's, or Murray's, day? The grand idea that took too much money and was never finished? Or was it the one Douglas built with his wife's money, making the best of the ruins the war had left him with? Or the one his son finished for him? Or would you rather see the place resplendent in its finery to welcome James the fourth, or fifth?"

"Whichever shows this room off at its best," she giggled.

"Early sixteenth century version then, after the upper windows there were put in," he murmured into her ear.

"Did you read every board we came across?" Cassie smiled, running her hands over his arms. "Isn't it just more fun to look and work it out?"

"We do have a job to do, darlin'," he mused. "It's all well and good for one of us to stand and visualise completed walls and missing floors, but one of us still has to check up on the details from time to time."

"Speaking of missing floors, let's go," she said, pulling away and taking his hand. "There doesn't seem to be a lot of people going in and out of the donjon just now. We can go in and take a look around, maybe even imagine the place as it originally was."

"Speak for yourself!" Jacob laughed.

XXXX

Eve Baird walked in step with Flora and Mhairi, one woman on either side of her, through the extensive and beautifully manicured gardens of Dunvegan Castle. They talked of many things: the men in their lives, at least the current ones; the demands of their jobs and of their families; juggling friends, family and lovers as they walked the tightrope of their own self. They, at least Flora and Eve, compared notes on Jenkins' many idiosyncrasies and debated whether he had mellowed over the years, or had become hardened by time. Mhairi held her peace, but listened keenly to her ancestor's tales. When the tide of the talk turned to pending nuptials, the heiress took her turn to take part. It was a while before they noticed that Ezekiel was not with them.

The gardens at Dunvegan are well worth the visit. They are spread out over a number of acres, and comprise a walled garden, a formal garden, a jetty, a boathouse, a loch, a wild garden and many heavily wooded areas. Wandering in these areas can lead to parties being split up and lost temporarily. It was after one of these particular wanderings that Ezekiel found the stream. It tumbled, sparkling in the low sunlight, over a mossy crag and into a worn rivulet in the rock below. He reached out a hand to it.

"Don't," called a voice. "It's bad luck to disturb the water. The selkies can tell."

Ezekiel turned to see a young woman watching him. Two thin braids held her long blonde hair back from her face, the rest of it tumbling down her back like the waterfall down its rocks, and grey-green eyes watched him inquisitively. She must have been only a few years younger than he was.

"S-sorry," stuttered the thief, his usual confidence faltering under that intelligent stare. "They will?"

"Oh, you've heard of selkies," the young woman concluded, smiling brightly and tipping her head to one side. "That's unusual. Especially among Australians."

"I met one once," he managed to reply. "Are you one too?"

The girl laughed, high and clear like rain on crystal. "Don't be silly! Selkies are beautiful creatures, even without their skin. They appear as the most beautiful woman, or man, you can imagine. If you'd really met one, you'd know that."

"I d... I did... I did know that," Ezekiel stammered. "I just... She just... You remind me of her."

A crease of puzzlement in her brows, followed by a deep blush of crimson in her cheeks, suffused the young woman's features. "You must be a friend of my mother's if you're here at this time of the year," she said, changing the subject. "Are you staying long?"

"Not... not really," replied Ezekiel. "My m... My colleague is talking to the caretaker and someone just now. Nothing to do with why we're here, really. Once they're done, we're out of here."

"Never to return?"

"I hope not," he replied, before his brain had time to process the words. She blushed again and looked demurely away. He took his turn to watch her with interest. "What's your name?"

"Seonaidh," she answered, looking up at him again. "Seonaidh MacLeod. I'm Mhairi's daughter."

At the back of Ezekiel's brain, a little bell was ringing, but it was being drowned out by something else. He held out his hand and plastered on his most dashing smile. "Ezekiel Jones," he told her. "World Class... Librarian."


	35. For the Stone, Chapter 4

"What was it like, then?" Flynn enquired, straightening up from his scrutiny of the tower masonry. "Full of people, brand new and shining..."

"Hmm?" Jenkins looked round. "Oh, much like most busy buildings. Much like a university building, in fact. A University library, perhaps, but without the books. The cafeteria on the ground floor, or below. The reading rooms and lecture halls up a level, where conversation can take place without too much distraction, then the upper rooms for the die hard researchers who had bedding rolls hidden under their desks."

"You sound like you've been," smiled Flynn, the memory of his own university days flitting across his mind.

"Once or twice," nodded Jenkins. "The people change, the knowledge grows, the books are added to, but nothing really changes. They all have that sense of mild obsession lingering around them. Especially in the library buildings."

Flynn nodded with a wry smile and they continued their search in comfortable silence. After a while, Flynn noticed Jenkins hadn't moved. He eyed the old man curiously. "What is it?"

"Hmm?" Jenkins looked round again, startled for the second time running. "Oh, just a thought, just a thought. Stone said he thought the manuscript said 'wall', didn't he? Only thought?"

"What are you thinking?" Flynn wondered, eyes narrowed.

"Well, there aren't many words one could mistake for 'wall', are there?" Jenkins replied. "He never said what letter, or letters he couldn't read, did he?"

"Only that the page was burnt," Flynn supplied, walking over to the Caretaker.

"But it was just the one word he had difficulty reading," mused the old man. "Wall. What word could be mistaken for wall? Ball? Fall? Gall? Pall? Tall? Perhaps, but none of those make any sense. Mall? Even less sense: it didn't exist then. Hall might work, but here there were the kitchens below the hall, so we strike out again. Changing the ending is even less productive! Change the middle though... Wall, well, will, woll, wull, wyll. Half of those don't exist. That leaves will, which does fit, and well. Below the castle well. Now there's a possibility."

"I don't see any well, though, Jenkins," responded Flynn. "With the river so close, would you even need one?"

"With the river so close," he replied, "you could dig down from the base of the kitchens and be sure of hitting a clean source before not very long at all."

"And the kitchens being handily situated right below your great hall," continued Flynn, "that would be quite a convenient place to hide a royal relic?"

"Precisely," smiled Jenkins.

"And I take it you remember where that well might be?" Flynn continued. Jenkins smirked and turned his hands palm uppermost. Flynn laughed. "Of course you do."

XXXX

"What was it like, then?" Cassie wondered aloud as she gazed across the Clyde valley from the only outward facing window of the tower room. "The people who lived here: they would have stood here, right where we're standing, looking where we're looking. What do you think they would have seen?"

"Well," sighed Jacob, leaning back against the ancient sandstone walls. "The default pattern for nature here is the forest, so I guess they'd see pretty much what we see, at least nearby. And maybe the occasional siege tower, of course."

He reached out a hand and brushed the flaming red hair back from her face. He wanted to reach out and draw her near to him. To hold her close and never leave her side. If anything had happened to her in those caves... He contented himself with moving forward and turning her face to his, meeting her lips with his own.

"What was that for?" Cassie blushed, ducking her head with a smile and fixing her hair.

"What? I can't kiss my girl when she's being particularly beautiful?" Jacob grinned, running a hand through her hair again.

She batted the hand away. "What if someone comes up the stairs?" Cassie hissed.

"Let them!" Jacob laughed. "We'll hear them long before they'll have the slightest idea we're even here! It's a spiral staircase out there: sound bounces up it. One of the greatest inventions in a castle, besides the drawbridge if there was one. If you're attacked, you can hear your enemy well in advance, your sword arm is free to move on the way down and theirs is hampered by the central pillar on the way up. Plus they're one of the sturdiest parts of the entire building! It never bothered you in France if there was anyone else around. What's different here?"

"That was France," she retorted. "It's practically expected there. This is Britain. They're weird about stuff like that!"

"This is Scotland. It was the English who were traditionally weird about stuff like that, and it barely applies these days. It never really has up here!" Jacob drew her close again and kissed her.

This time she didn't pull away. Instead, she relaxed into the kiss, letting her arms rest on his chest, one hand reaching up to snake around his neck and tangle her fingers in his hair.

XXXX

"What is it like then?" Flora asked Eve, holding open a gate for her. "Being Guardian to such a young Librarian while a dinosaur like Galeas is still roaming the halls?"

Eve looked around her. They had entered the walled garden at Dunvegan, and she was conscious that the gate had only creaked open three times. Both Flora and Mhairi watched her with amused expressions.

"The boy will be perfectly safe in these grounds, don't worry," smiled Mhairi. "He left us to explore the wild garden some time ago."

"He's quite a young thing, isn't he," chortled Flora as Eve visibly relaxed. "Usually they've been through the degree mill a few more times before they are chosen. How many does he have?"

"Degrees? Ezekiel?" Eve blinked. "None, so far as I know. I hadn't really thought to ask. That's not why the Library recruited him, though. He has a very... particular skill set, and I suppose his qualifications are the reputation their practical application has earned him."

"Your first Librarian?" Mhairi enquired.

"One of your first, I think?" Flora corrected. "But not _the_ first, am I right?"

"He's one of four current Librarians," replied Eve, barely moving a muscle as she watched the old woman through narrowed eyes. "My fiancé was the first I met. Together we collected the three remaining candidates and trained them."

"A Library can change its spots then," mused Flora, pulling a face. "A Librarian married. There's a thing. And you intend to keep the job once you are married?"

"I can't imagine my life without it," shrugged Eve. "Jenkins, Flynn, Ezekiel, Stone, Cassandra: they're my family now."

"But not a complete family," murmured the crone, staring at the details of Eve's face. "Not yet, and not for a while, but not complete, not in your eyes. What is it you know, child? Have you a touch of the Odhar about you? Has the Seer's stone been found at last?"

"What?" Eve blinked.

"Our most famous seer, Kenneth Mackenzie, Coinneach Odhar to give him his Gaelic name. Born of a brave woman, a farmer's wife, who won her son's gift, or curse, through her own courage. Watching over her cattle one night, she saw the spirits of the dead walk forth from their rest in the nearby graveyard. One by one, through the night, the spirits returned, each entering its grave as soundlessly as it had left it until all but one were filled. Taking her distaff, the Seer's mother placed the staff over the grave of the missing ghost, determined to find out the cause of the spirits' tardiness. When the figure of a fair haired woman approached, it begged entry to its resting place. She challenged the ghost and demanded it tell its tale. The spirit told her then that it was the ghost of a Norse princess drowned and washed up on island shores. In return for entry to her grave, the spirit told her to walk to the shore and, when the dawn broke, to look down. The stone that first light of the sun touched would be a stone of great power, and she must take it and keep it safe to give her son when he came of age, for that stone would grant him the ability to see much that man could not. Some that was, some that is and some that had not yet come to pass. Both the good, and the bad. The woman did as she was bidden, and all that the spirit had told her came to pass. The Seer's life was not a happy one, and his prophecies oft gave him pain. None more so than his last, though, for it won him the ire of a vengeful woman and cost him his life. The stone, which he kept by him always, has never been seen since." 

"That definitely sounds like a curse!" Eve exclaimed.

"Aye," Flora nodded. "A body can know too much about their own future, its true."

Eve looked at the old woman sharply. "Where did you hear that?"

"Hear it?" Flora frowned at her. "Do you need to hear me tell you the sky is blue for you to see it? Or that the grass is green? It's common sense, child. You don't have to 'hear' anything!"

"And that stone has never been found either?" Eve asked, changing the subject. "The Seer's Stone?"

"Not to my knowledge," replied Flora. "But I would not be best placed to tell you if a Librarian had found it and squirreled it away with his other treasures. Why? You've already seen what the future has on offer for you."

"Only a tiny snapshot," Eve assured her. "I jumped forward because of the Janus Coin, I returned to my own time almost immediately. My son was waiting for me with the coin in a box."

"Ah, that is why it holds such a large portion of your thoughts," the crone breathed. "You have met your son and now you want his future existence confirmed. Well, Janus Coin time hops are usually accurate enough. If you met him, he will exist. Unless you go out of your way to prevent his birth of course."

They completed their tour of the walled garden and passed back out into the main garden and a well manicured lawn. Two figures approached from the other side.

"I believe my daughter has found your missing Librarian," smiled Mhairi, watching them. "He seems quite taken with her."

"And her with him, by the look of it," laughed Eve. "Look at him: normally he would be charming everything he wasn't trying to aggravate. Now she has him eating out of the palm of her hand. I've never seen Jones be deferential to anyone but Jenkins!"

"So long as the young thief has no plans to steal the girl herself away, he can be as taken with her as he likes," Flora snapped, throwing a dark look at the girl's mother. "Seonaidh is next in line after Mhairi should ought happen to me. She must remain here, preparing to take her mother's place as heiress, just as Mhairi did, and her mother before her, all the way back to myself, and my mother and her mother before her and beyond. No good will come of a friendship between an heiress and a Librarian."

"But you have been friends with Jenkins for years?" Baird queried, frowning at the sudden storm-clouds in the old woman's demeanour.

"Precisely!"


	36. For the Stone, Chapter 5

Jacob held the gate open for Cassie as they left the red-walled courtyard. He turned to close the gate behind him and, by the time he turned back, she had picked her way across the path and field to a series of dips and stonewalled hummocks in the ground.

"What are these?" Cassandra murmured, feeling the familiar warmth of his arm wrap around her shoulders. "They look as though they should go somewhere."

"They're the original foundations," he replied, turning her to look back to the great round tower of the donjon. "The castle was started by Walter of Moray some time in the late thirteenth century. He laid the foundations for one of the largest and most impressive castles in Scotland, right here. He ran out of money though and had to make do with just the donjon and rectangular courtyard you've just seen. The outbreak of war probably didn't help much either. These earthworks never got beyond where they are now."

"This pair of circles is marked as the gatehouse," she mused. "What's that one?"

Cassandra pulled away from him and headed over to a single circle almost level with the eastern corner of the castle, but as far distant from it as the gatehouse had been from the entrance. This time the circle was marked "Site of Well". She turned, took in the full view of the earthworks, and let her mind build the castle in the same stone and style as the walls that remained.

"This would have been a tower in the wall," she told Stone, who was already at her elbow. "It keeps the well inside. Fortifies it as a part of the castle. You would have fresh water to drink, even in a siege."

"Shame they never finished it before the first siege hit then!" Stone joked. "A good water supply could make or break a siege. Not much use against siege engines though."

Cassandra looked back at the circle of the well. She stared at it, envisaging the reinforced walls of the great hole below. She had used her synaesthesia to examine buildings and landscapes before, but now she became aware of something odd happening. A wave of dizziness hit her and she stumbled. Stone, close by as always, caught her and set her on her feet.

"What was that?" Jacob asked her, the worry obvious in his voice.

"Nothing," she assured him. "I'm fine. Just a little dizzy is all."

"You don't get dizzy," Jacob reminded her. "Not since before..."

There was never any need to complete that sentence. Both he and she knew exactly what it meant. Cassandra knew what his tone meant too.

"It's nothing, honest," she repeated. "Just a feeling, when I concentrated, that there was something here. Like a distant ping on a radar map. I felt something like it when... Well, not long ago, when I was around a lot of magic. It was like that, but more sudden. And I wasn't expecting it. It threw me a little, is all."

"You can sense when magic is around?" Jacob looked at her through narrowed eyes. "How long has that been a thing?"

"Not long," she shrugged, turning away from him. "I wasn't really sure it was a thing until now. I wondered if there might be any, well, side effects from being cured the way I was. Eve told me the alternate me had used magic to cure herself and it had affected her oddly."

"Oddly how?" Jacob pressed, grabbing her hips and turning her towards him.

"She could use magic," Cassie shrugged, unable to avoid the worried blue eyes any longer. "And I think maybe I can too, a little, when there's enough of it around."

"Like at ley lines?" Stone frowned.

"I guess," she shrugged. "Or around magical objects."

Stone looked from Cassandra to the grass filled circle. His eyes fell on the small nameplate labelling the mound. In the back of his mind, something clicked.

"Well, not wall," he muttered. "The burn took out the 'e' and I assumed it was an 'a'."

"What?" Cassandra asked watching his face with a wrinkled brow.

"The book I was reading," he cried jubilantly, looking back round to her. "The bottom of the page was burnt so that I couldn't make out all of the passage. I said I wasn't sure about the word 'wall'. That's because the way the page had burnt, the second letter of the word was missing. 'Wall' made sense in the context of the rest of the sentence, so I just assumed it was that. It wasn't. It said 'below the castle well'! The stone is here! We just need to get it out!"

"We can't dig up an historical monument in daylight," Cassandra reminded him. "Let's just find a nearby, and convenient, door, then call Eve and fill her in. Flynn too."

XXXX

"Are we sure this is a good idea?" Jenkins queried as the two men made their way back to their door.

"We'll be fine," Flynn brushed aside the old man's concerns. "Eve says they found nothing much up on Skye anyway."

"Oh, did they not?" Jenkins asked lightly. "Really?"

"Your friend there had some information about Robert the Bruce, and what he wanted from his time on the island," expanded Flynn. "She and Eve seem to be getting on like a house on fire. Eve said something about her having hundreds of old stories to tell."

"Really? That many?" Jenkins replied, keeping his voice high and offhanded. "How, uh... How is she getting on with Ezekiel?"

"Oh, he's got his own distractions," Flynn chortled. "Eve says he's quite taken with a young lady there. She says she's never seen anything like it, not in Ezekiel. Following her around, tripping over his words, smiling at nothing. She thinks he might be in love!"

"That can't happen," Jenkins' voice dropped to a more urgent tone. "Not good. She needs to send him back to Leo immediately. He can help us here instead."

"Oh-kay," said Flynn slowly. "Eve mentioned your friend wasn't too happy about it either. Seemed to think it had something to do with you. Anything you want to tell us there, Jenkins?"

"All you need to know is that women of that bloodline are cursed," he replied seriously. "If Ezekiel's new 'bird' is a descendent of Flora, especially if she is the eldest of her generation, she has a calling far greater than falling for a Librarian. A calling that brings a great responsibility, and with that great responsibility comes great power. Power that must stay with the castle."

"Why?" Flynn frowned. "What'll happen to the castle if she leaves?"

"It's not so much the castle as its contents," said the Caretaker. "Dunvegan Castle is the oldest inhabited castle in Scotland for a reason. It contains the some of the relics of one of the most deeply magical cultures on the planet. The Celtic races brought together the druidic magic, the lore of the Gaels, the Picts, the Norse, the Celts and the Scots. They even included the myths of the Anglo-Saxon races that moved gradually northward. All over huge clusters of ley lines. The fairy folk, selkies, kelpies, brownies, pixies, boggarts, elves, all the magical races, peaceful or otherwise, found homes around their shores. From island machair to mountain tundra, from calm lochs to swirling ocean maelstroms, there was a habitat there for every kind of magical creature. They crowded there! Some of them made contact with the humans. Magical artefacts began popping up all over the place. The Stone of Destiny was one. The Fairy Flag another. We're on the track of the former. We already know where the latter is. It's sitting in Dunvegan Castle being watched over by a woman who can trace her bloodline back to the fairy princess who gave them it! And that's not all! Every magical item that has been found in this part of the world is housed in one of two places: the Library and Dunvegan Castle. Items on display elsewhere in the country, that are associated with legends, are just copies of the real ones held there. Every time my travels brought me here on the track of something, it almost became a diplomatic incident! At least in the magical world! Especially once Flora took over as Cailleach. That's her real title. And there are always three! The eldest daughter of the youngest generation, her mother - trained to take over should the title move down the bloodline - and the Cailleach herself. The maid, the mother, the crone."

"Power of three?" Flynn wondered aloud.

"Power of three," Jenkins nodded. "And the further apart they are, the weaker they are and the more vulnerable the castle is. That girl must stay with her castle all her life. When she marries, her husband will take her name and stay there with her. He can't possibly be a Librarian, you see: it wouldn't work!"

"So we'll tell Ezekiel and keep him busy and he'll get over it," Flynn shrugged. "He's a young man, who's had his head turned by a pretty girl. How serious can it be?"

"MacLeod women have fairy blood," rumbled Jenkins. "Don't underestimate the strength of their charms. Especially to a Librarian! They will let their magic seep into you like poison from nettle sting. At first you barely feel it, then before you know it they've taken over your life and you can see nothing but them. Librarians are more susceptible than most to magic, and have more cause than most to avoid its clutches. The world needs them with their head in the game and their remarkable brain focussed on their mission."

Flynn looked over at the old man as they reached their door. He tipped his head to one side and studied the lined features. "So was it Flora or her predecessor?"

"Hmm?" Jenkins looked round, one hand on the door handle.

"The MacLeod woman who broke your heart," the Librarian smirked. "Nobody gets that worked up about somebody else's love life if it doesn't ring a bell with their own."

"I don't know what you mean," sniffed Jenkins, and turned the handle.

XXXX

"That was Flynn," Eve told the women around her, and the unheeding Ezekiel. "He and Jenkins think they've found something. They're going to go back without their local escort to check it out alone. Apparently all they need to do is steal a boat and dig up a ruined castle all by themselves, so..."

"Perhaps they could do with an extra pair of hands," suggested Flora, watching Ezekiel like an owl watches a mouse. "Especially for the first part of that."

"You know, I think that might be a good idea," agreed Eve warily. "It's about time we were both on our way, really."

Over in the corner of the room, Seonaidh and Ezekiel stood by the window, the girl pointing out the landmarks that could be seen and teaching him their names. His eyes dutifully followed her guidance to identify the item, then darted back to her as he repeated their names. Eve watched a hand reach out towards the golden hair.

"Jones!" Baird barked, in her loudest army voice. The young man jumped and looked round. Momentarily snapped out of his dream world. "Time to go! Flynn and Jenkins need us back home."

"But..." Ezekiel wavered, indicating inelegantly that he would like to stay with his new friend.

"Time to go!" Baird repeated sternly, indicating inelegantly the door.

With hurried goodbyes and thanks between the three women, and lingering sad gazes between the two younger members of the group, Eve finally succeeded in removing her charge from the buildings and grounds of the castle. They returned to their door.

"Honey, I'm home!" Eve called as she re-entered the Library office.

"And very welcome home you are too, my love," called down Flynn's voice from the mezzanine. "Come up and join us."

With a smile, Eve headed to the stairs, a downtrodden Ezekiel following behind.

"Not you," growled Jenkins from behind them. Ezekiel stopped and turned. The old man looked him over, then continued. "I see you met Seonaidh. I think we need to have a little talk about that."

An hour later, Eve Baird sat at her desk, one eye on her phone, another on the table seating plan she had been working through since the three men had left for Threave, this time bearing shovels and an excellent lock pick. Well, an excellent lock picker, anyway. She had heard from Stone and Cassandra that they were on their way, and that they had a lead, but that was all. It had been enough to make her decide to wait for the couple instead of leaving with the trio, but it had been a while ago now and she was starting to worry. She picked up her phone. The door flashed into life. Stone and Cassandra tumbled through.

"Where the heck have you been?" Baird remonstrated immediately. "I've been worried sick!"

"Do you have any idea how far our door is?" Stone complained. "Seriously! We haven't walked that far since Collins Falls!"

"Did you set up a marker closer?" Baird asked serenely.

"One, but it's in the castle and our possible site isn't," interjected Cassandra. "Is Ezekiel around? If they lock the front door after dark we might need to pick the lock."

"He's with Flynn and Jenkins," replied Baird, ignoring a grumbling Stone in the background. "We'll just have to do our best. I got the shovels. Can't be that long to sundown now?"

"Not long," Cassandra shook her head. "I think we should wait a bit longer anyway, though. I don't think we should risk drawing the general public into this. The stone feels very powerful, but there's something else about it too. It feels almost like it's... Like it's glowing, you know? Like kyrptonite? From the comics?"

"I thought that only glowed when Superman was nearby?" Baird frowned, more surprised by this than Cassandra's ability to sense the stone's magic. She had discussed the redhead's growing magical abilities with her at length at every dress fitting and wedding planning session.

"It did, but that's still the image that comes to me," Cassandra murmured, lowering her voice. "I haven't been able to do more than sense magic here, so far. What if someone like Morgan is after the stone too? We can't fight her!"

"I still have her app on my phone," suggested Baird. "We could use that. You for your magic, me for my punches. I'm sure I still owe that woman a black eye or something."

"I thought you burst her lip last time?" Cassandra frowned.

"That was before I knew she knew about the Loom and didn't tell us," retorted Baird. "Besides, a split lip is hardly sufficient payback for almost killing an entire roomful of kids."

"True," sighed Cassandra. "Here's hoping it's just reacting to us though. If it does know when magically linked people are around, it might react to Jacob and myself as much as anyone else."

"Or it might be reacting to someone else entirely," added the Colonel.


	37. For the Stone, Chapter 6

The boat ride had been uneventful. Picking the lock on the boathouse door had been so easy Flynn hadn't even had time to finish his comment about the usefulness of thieves. He was still smarting about that a bit. He took it out on the soil instead. They had brought two shovels and a pick, just in case they met a rock. Jenkins was leaning on the pick. Flynn was absolutely certain if there was rock needing broken up, Jenkins would be there, right on cue, to hand that pick to him.

"Her eyes are like the sea," Ezekiel was saying, his constant wittering fading in and out of Flynn's interest. "And her hair! It shines like spun gold in the sunlight. It falls down her back like water. It's softer than silk. Her smile lights up the darkest corners and her laugh is like music from heaven."

"Please stop!" Jenkins groaned from his chosen place by the wall.

"I think it might help if we concentrated on the digging, Ezekiel," said Flynn, stretching his patience a little bit further. "The sooner we find this stone, the sooner you can tell us all about her."

"Or you could just, you know," Jenkins shrugged, "wait until we're home and I can escape?"

"But she's so perfect, Jenkins," the thief turned, dropping his shovel entirely now. "She's beautiful, she's funny, she's kind, she knows every single episode of Doctor Who. All thirty four series!"

"Ezekiel," sighed Flynn, patience beginning to reach its limit. "Dig!"

The thief picked up his shovel and began again, falling into time with the Senior Librarian and managing to not mention Seonaidh for all of ten seconds. "She knows all these really cool old stories..."

"Saints preserve us!" Jenkins groaned.

Any further expostulations or complaints were interrupted by a dull thunk. Flynn froze. "I think we've got something! Jenkins, help me pry it out!"

XXXX

"You spent hours exploring this old ruin and you never noticed the earthworks on the way in?" Baird asked, gaping at the roofless rooms of Bothwell Castle.

"Hey, it's more complex than you might think!" Stone protested. "She's a beauty, this place. Its a real shame she's as run down as she is."

"Plus we may have got a little distracted at times," admitted Cassandra.

"May?" Eve eyed them suspiciously. "Please tell me you two don't have some weird bucket list of make-out spots."

"Of course not," Stone shook his head, waving away the question.

"That would be very, very unprofessional," Cassandra added, in a very, very serious tone.

"I don't want to know," Eve decided, holding up her hands in surrender. "Just let's go dig this thing up and get out of here."

The door from the castle courtyard to the earthworks beyond the walls was locked, but didn't prove too much of a problem. While Stone had been learning how to fight properly from Baird, Cassandra had been learning a few other skills from Ezekiel, although the thief still maintained using synaesthesia to help pick a lock was cheating. The trio trooped out into the outer part of the castle grounds. Beyond the shelter of the walls, a cold wind had picked up and they wrapped their jackets closer around them. The stars were out and the clear sky promised a cold night to come. Stone handed one of the two shovels he'd been carrying to Baird.

"You two found it, I'm just here on protection detail," she said, raising an eyebrow at him, but taking the shovel anyway.

"We'll take turns," suggested Cassandra, taking the shovel from Eve and starting to dig down by the well's label.

"You heard the woman," smirked Eve, ushering Stone over to join his girlfriend. "Get digging."

An hour or so later, and the hole was widening. Eve was taking her turn with the shovel and Cassandra was lying flat out on her stomach on the cold grass, on top of the jackets that Eve and Stone had removed. She had her chin propped up on her hands and was watching the diggers intently. Well, one of them anyway. Stone's shovel clattered against something metallic and Eve swapped hers for her flashlight. Below them, the light reflected off a line of silver in a dull, matte grey surface.

"Lead," murmured Stone. "Readily available at the time. Bends easily. Doesn't corrode. Perfect for encasing a precious relic in if you're planning on burying it underground."

"Cassandra, get over here and help us get this thing out of here," Baird called. There was no reply. She looked round. The redhead had her eyes fixed on her boyfriend and a dreamy smile plastered across her face. Eve shone the flashlight directly at her. She blinked and raised a hand to block the light. "Hey! Quit daydreaming, Red, and get over here!"

XXXX

Flynn, Jenkins and Ezekiel crowded round the hole by the castle wall. The item they were looking at was oblong, encased in lead and rock solid. They studied it in silence for several seconds. Jenkins was the first to come out with the obligatory "That's odd".

"What size is the stone again?" Jones enquired.

"Large enough to sit on, small enough to be carried around as a portable altar," replied Jenkins without hesitation.

"Well, it's definitely large enough to sit on," began Jones.

"But this is not the stone we were looking for," finished Flynn.

"Nevertheless, it is the one we'll take," said a voice behind them.

XXXX

Using one shovel as a lever, and inserting the other after it as a brace and a fulcrum, Stone, Cassandra and Baird had managed to get the rectangular, lead-covered block on its side. Between them, Stone and Eve heaved the ancient parcel up onto the grass. They turned to Cassandra.

Cassandra wasn't there.

Stone was on his feet in an instant, calling her name. Eve joined him, but took more time to survey her surrounding first.

"Stone, freeze!" Baird shouted. "Step back slowly. And again. One more. Now put your flashlight on and look down."

Stone switched on the torch on his phone and aimed it where he had been standing. Two shining black eyes looked back at him. The snake rose up and flattened out its hood. A long, forked tongue flickered out.

"Cassie!" Stone's voice took on a new edge of urgency. "Talk to me, darlin'!"

"Don't worry, Mr Stone," breathed a voice as soft as velvet. "Miss Cillian is merely unconscious. My little pet hasn't hurt anyone. Yet."

"What do you want?" Baird asked, knowing full well what the answer would be. She edged one hand towards her gun, the other to her phone.

"I wouldn't, Colonel Baird," said the voice. Eve froze and two pairs of arms grabbed her and held her still while another pair removed the two items she had reached for. The voice was closer when it spoke next, and somewhere behind her. "That's better. I would hate to have had to shoot you." The voice paused. "What am I saying: I would love to shoot you, Colonel. It would save so much trouble. What I would hate to have to do, really, is explain to my boss why and how you were shot. Especially when they particularly want to attend your wedding."

XXXX

Flynn, Jones, and Jenkins turned to see a tall, greying man, with a group of three of the most menacing ex-convicts lined up behind him. The three men moved at the nod from their boss. They were barely two paces from the trio when an invisible force lifted them off their feet and slammed them into a wall.

XXXX

Something in the voice was familiar, Eve thought. Beside her she heard a fist connect with Stone's gut, the air being expelled rapidly from his lungs. She tried to move and strong hands grabbed her, pinning her arms to her side.

"Enough of that, Colonel," said the voice. "I believe my pet has enough venom for both of you, all three of you in fact. Make this more difficult that it has to be and I'll let it loose on you all."

A breath of air brushed past Eve and she heard heavy, organic objects collide.

"Stone, grab the rock!" Baird ordered. "I'll get Cassandra. Get back to the door. Quick!"

Stone swung his torch around in a hunt for the redhead's recumbent body. He didn't find it. A voice behind him breathed in his ear, "I'm fine. Let's go before he wakes up!"

They grabbed the lead-covered rock and ran. When they reached the safety of the Library, they skidded to a halt, unhooked the doors and turned to the female Librarian.

"What did you do?" Baird asked, without ceremony.

Cassandra shrugged, avoiding Jacob's eyes. "I just used the same idea as the flying units to knock them over instead.

"Flying units?" Jacob asked, watching her in awe.

"Long story," she shrugged. "Let's just get this stone unwrapped just now and I'll tell you all about it later. One of us should call the others."

"Just tried," said Baird. "No reply, but their connection could be as patchy as yours was.

XXXX

In the ruins of Threave Castle, bad guys were also flying in various directions. Amidst the fray, Jenkins, Flynn and Ezekiel were also standing, open-mouthed and unharmed, gawking at the chaos around them. Eventually, when all lay still and silent, Jenkins breathed out slowly and then in.

"You could have told us you were coming," he sighed. "We would have waited on you. I would have waited on you"

"As I waited on you, Galeas," said a soft female lilt. "We must return. The Castle needs us."

"Flora..." Jenkins began.

"Don't," said the old woman quickly. Take the stone and your friends back to the Library and examine your find there."

A door appeared two thirds of the way across the empty base of the castle. Jenkins nodded towards it. "The old door out of the kitchens," he explained to a goggle-eyed Flynn and Ezekiel. One man alternated between staring at Jenkins and the door. The other was staring at the space where a handsome young woman, with golden hair and green eyes had just disappeared.

XXXX

The back door flashed into life and admitted the three men and their find. They were surprised to see the other team also in the office, also looking harried, and also surrounding a rectangular cuboid encased in lead. They placed theirs on the floor at the other end of the desk.

"That looks like the right size for the Stone," said Flynn.

"We were just about to open it," Eve told him. "Care to watch?"

"We have our own metallic wrapping paper to deal with," smiled Flynn. "Last one done buys breakfast?"

"Deal!" Eve laughed, and she, Stone and Cassandra fell on the package with glee.

At the other end of the desk, Jenkins and Flynn did the same. Ezekiel stood alone, staring off into space. Eventually, the two older men looked up. Jenkins called "Done!" and they stood back.

"Well, we've definitely got the Stone of Destiny," replied Stone with a weary grin. "What have you got?"

"Looks like some kind of ancient headstone," mused Flynn. "It's written in Futhark."

"Let me see," Stone walked over and looked down at the runic inscription on the oblong stone. He read aloud as he translated. "It says 'The Serpent Stirs'."

"Considering the night we've had so far," groaned Baird, "that can't be good!"


	38. For the Ring, Chapter 1

The atmosphere in the Library was intense. Not just because not one but two groups had been attacked on their last mission, and at more or less the same time. Nor was it simply because it now appeared that Cassandra could, if close enough to an item of great magical power, use that power to move objects around the room. It wasn't even due to the sinister and worrisome message they had translated from the runic inscriptions on the ancient stone they had collected. The one they had not expected to find. It was a combination of all these factors, it is true, but it was also, and mostly, the effect of the ongoing argument between Flynn, Leonardo and Jenkins on the correct positioning of the Stone of Destiny in the Library.

Flynn had suggested that, being a Scottish historical item, the stone should be displayed with other Scottish historical items, such as Malvina's sprig of white heather.

Leonardo had argued that, being a Celtic regal item, it should be kept with other Celtic regal items, such as King Arthur's crown.

Jenkins had made the point that, being originally a Biblical item, namely the stone Jacob used as his pillow when he saw the ladder of angels, it should be placed with other Biblical items, such as the Ark of the Covenant and the Spear of Destiny.

Eve was currently attempting to play peacemaker and listen to all three cases at once. Stone, Jones and Cassandra were watching from the safety of a nearby bookshelf.

"I am so glad I'm just a 'Junior' Librarian," breathed Jones, settling himself against the end of the shelving unit next to the other two. "I don't even have to try and make a suggestion: they all outrank me."

"I'm with Jenkins on this one," opined Cassandra, sipping the mug of coffee the thief had just brought her. "The origins of the stone are surely the most important."

"If we went with everything's origins," pointed out Stone, "the Spear of Destiny would be over with the Roman relics just because it happened to be a Roman who wielded it. It's what makes the thing magical we ought to go by. It was the seat of kings during their coronation. That's the important part."

"At the end of it's time, maybe," countered his girlfriend. "It would never have been used in that way had it not already been important because of its use as an altar by Saint Columba, which also never would have happened had the stone not been passed to him as one of great power because of its origins."

"There is nothing to say it was magical then," he retorted. "It could have just been a sacred item, like an old Bible or something."

"You know we have the original Gutenberg one in here, somewhere," interposed Jones.

"Jacob saw visions when he slept on the stone. So did Columba," Cassandra pointed out.

"It is most famous for being the coronation seat of kings," Stone protested.

"A sizeable proportion of the items in here are not famous at all," mused Jones.

"Whose side are you on?" Stone complained.

Jones and Cassandra clinked their coffee mugs. Stone huffed out a petulant sigh.

"Aw," Cassandra laughed. "Admit it: half the reason you're siding for the Regal argument is because it's da Vinci's idea."

Stone grumbled wordlessly into his coffee and let the matter rest. The trio watched the entertainment with interest. Despite being well in with the judge, it was clear that Flynn was losing.

"Of course, you know why Flynn's not going to win this one," muttered Stone, still sulking. "Nearly all the Scottish magical artefacts are held at Dunvegan, with Jenkins' witchy friends."

"Witchy?" Cassandra frowned.

"Cailleach is Gaelic for 'old woman'," he explained. "In the context of three women of suitable age, though, it refers to the eldest witch of the traditional coven of three: the crone. Baird spent most of her time talking to the crone and the mother, while Romeo over there was chatting up the maiden."

"She's not a witch, she's an angel," corrected Ezekiel, gazing starry-eyed at nothing.

"Did you have to?" Cassandra sighed quietly. "I am running out of distractions to give him! If I have to send him for any more coffee I think I'll be awake for a week!"

"He started it," muttered Stone.

"No, you just don't like losing," Cassandra reminded him.

"She just stood there, surrounded by this glow, like gold," murmured Ezekiel. "It was like the light was coming from inside her. Nobody could lay a finger on her. They just rebounded off the glow. She never took her eyes off me for a moment. Didn't say anything. Didn't wave or anything. Just stood there, smiling at me, in the middle of this bubble of gold light. Then it was all over. The old one opened a door that wasn't there, and told us to go. She raised a hand to wave then, but that was all. And then she just disappeared."

"Like I said," commented Stone. "Witch."

"Angel," maintained Ezekiel.

"No wings," muttered Stone.

"No spells," retorted Ezekiel.

"That you heard," taunted Stone.

"Why would being a witch be a bad thing, again?" Cassandra piped up.

Silence.

"Good answer, boys," she smirked.

Stone and Jones watched the redhead saunter over to the makeshift courtroom and whisper in Eve's ear.

"Er, we are not her boys," Jones commented.

"Yeah we are," replied Stone automatically.

"Yeah," repeated Jones, with a smug grin, "we are."

Stone frowned in confusion as Jones headed over to join the group. Then the penny dropped. "Hey! I am never watching those DVDs with you again!"

By the time Eve Baird called a halt to the arguments, she already had a headache. No matter how much she loved Flynn, or how eloquent da Vinci managed to be, Jenkins' case held the most merit. Eventually she had to put her foot down and threaten to reallocate all Leonardo's pieces by where they gained the most notoriety rather than their creation by him. The old artist grumbled about it, but yielded to her final judgement. She sent the two main plaintiffs off to find and prepare a suitable spot in the Biblical section.

"Now, what have you three managed to find out about our other acquisition?" Baird demanded of the trio that had gradually snuck up behind her. "Cassandra mentioned you had something."

"Romeo here spotted something with his ghost goggles," grumbled Stone.

"Do you want me to come up with a nickname for you?" Jones protested. "Because we both know: my nicknames stick around, and I'm not the guy who can't let his girl out of his sight for more than a minute."

"Hey, I wasn't the one who dragged her into unstable, haunted caves and nearly had a run in with the guy who had just tried to shoot her!" Stone countered.

"Gentlemen!" Baird yelled. "I have just dealt with one set of arguing Librarians, current and retired, and I am in no mood to play referee to the next generation's childish squabbles. Either tell me what you found or show me, but do not, I repeat do not, make my headache any worse!"

"Walk this way, your highness," grinned Jones, with a bow and an arm outstretched in the direction of the office. Eve glared. "Ma'am?" Jones corrected himself tentatively. The glare continued. "Colonel Baird."

Sharing a quick smile with Cassandra, Baird led the way back through to the office, Cassandra by her side and the three men following. The rune stone was lying flat on the central desk. Jones hurried round to where his goggles lay and passed them to Baird. She put them on. Sure enough, the faint tracery of other runes criss-crossed the stone, like the indentations of a hundred pens on the leather of a hotel reception desk.

"Any idea what they say?" Baird asked, passing the goggles to Flynn.

"I can make out a few isolated runes," said Stone. "But I can't get enough of them together to make a translation."

"What about using Cassandra's synaesthesia to separate the layers?" Flynn enquired.

"Layers?" Baird looked round at her fiancé.

"It's a palimpsest," shrugged Flynn, holding the goggles out to Cassandra. "One set of runes carved in, then chiselled off to make way for the next set."

"Last time we dealt with a palimpsest," sighed Baird, "Stone got possessed the minute he touched it and we didn't have a clue until... Until much later."

"Until he snogged Cassandra when the two of them were only just getting back on speaking terms from the last time they got whammied and she snogged him," supplied Ezekiel. "But no, they didn't have feelings for each other then. No not at all!"

"It was complicated," muttered Cassandra.

"Not everyone falls head over heels at the drop of a hat," protested Stone at the same time.

"Oh, the Shakespeare's Quill thing. I remember," nodded Flynn. "And you told me about the book and Freyja's necklace too. No, I don't think this is anything like that. That palimpsest was made by magic especially for the purpose of tricking one of us. We never did find out by whom though, did we?"

Baird and her three charges shook their heads. "It was very vexing," she smiled.

"No," continued Flynn, returning her smile. "This is just an ordinary palimpsest, I believe. Over the centuries it has been used as a sort of runic billboard. One message is replaced with another and the faint tracery of the previous message is left. It might have something to do with the action of the percussive force during the engraving process perhaps altering the orientations of certain crystals or magnetic fields deep within the rock that are then picked up by the supersensitive filters in the goggles and processed as a part of the ordinary visible section of the electromagnetic spectrum thereby allowing the wearer to see the imprints of previous messages."

"And breathe," smiled Eve. She looked at Cassandra. "Please tell me you understood that?"

Cassandra nodded. "I got it. I'll have a go, but I might not be able to use the synaesthesia with the goggles. Or, at least, not clearly. Too much interference."

She fixed the goggles on her head and looked down. The first thing to stand out, bright and clear, were the runes that they could all see, goggles or no goggles, on the stone's surface. Almost immediately, other lines began filling up Cassandra's vision, like sets of lights that illuminated consecutively with a microsecond delay in between. When the stone tablet seemed full, and no new lines were being added, she closed her eyes and took the goggles off.

"Give me my notepad," Cassandra commanded, holding out a hand with her eyes closed. The book, with a mechanical pencil, was placed in her hand. "Now don't distract me."

She opened the notepad to her marker, which was always kept at the next blank page for ease of use, and looked down. On that page she copied the first runic inscription. She turned the page and copied the next. Then the next. And the next. Stone, Jones, Flynn and Baird looked on in silence as page after page turned and layer after layer was copied. She had nearly finished the book by the time she stopped writing. The pencil ceased its movement. Cassandra looked up and blinked. She handed the notebook and pencil to Stone.

"Can you translate it?" Cassandra asked, looking over at him with nervous eyes. "Does it make sense?"

Stone flicked through the first few pages. "Yeah, it makes sense," he nodded. "At least as much as the first one, or last one I guess, does. It'll take me a while to get them all done though."

"You work on that then," said Baird. "Da Vinci can help out with the technical side of things when he gets back. Jones, Cassandra, Flynn: you're with me up in the mezzanine. I want to know how that stone ended up in that old well."

An urgent flapping sounded behind Baird. She closed her eyes.

"Looks like we have a case," began Jones. "I guess I should just..."

"Hold it!" Baird hooked a finger in the thief's collar. "Check your book. Is it in there? No? Didn't think so. When it's a case for you, your book has a glowy fit. When it's a case for Cassandra, her book has a panic attack. When it's a case for Stone, his book buzzes. When that book gets into a flap about anything these days, it's for the one Librarian left that doesn't have a personal magical pager of their very own. Let Flynn take it. I'll help out. You and Cassandra go get researching! You can grab Jenkins to help out when he comes back, if you need to."

Jones, visibly deflated, huffed and turned on his heel even as Flynn bounced past to peer into the book. Baird watched Cassandra link arms with the young man and lead him up the stairs to the mezzanine shelves. She turned to Flynn. He was pouring over the page with interest. She joined him and looked over his shoulder, her arms wrapping around him from behind. He turned his head to kiss her cheek, but she was sure his eyes never left the page.

"What have we got, Librarian?" Eve murmured.

"Pack warm, Guardian," replied Flynn. "We're off to Norway again. The body of a winged man has just been discovered in a glacier there."


	39. For the Ring, Chapter 2

"Please tell me you have something?" Baird asked a busy Cassandra and Ezekiel. The two had been skimming and scanning all the library's texts on the Douglas families for a connection between them and the Norse rune stone.

"Nothing," Cassandra shook her head. "We have that Archibald the Grim, who built Threave, was protector of the realm. That could make it his job to deal with anything like that coming into the country. We have details on their crest and shield..."

"There's a difference?" Baird frowned.

"The crest stays the same for all generations," nodded Cassandra. "The shield changes. Each Douglas has his own shield, so that he can be identified in battle, I guess."

"And what's so special about the Douglas' ones?"

"Well," began Cassandra. "Let's start with their crest. A green salamander in the midst of a fire, standing on a hat. The hat is called a chapeau. It was granted to Scottish feudal barons. The fire means zeal. The salamander, protection. The green of the salamander, if that's how it works, signifies hope, joy and loyalty in love."

"The motto is in French," chipped in Ezekiel. "It means 'Never Behind'. As protector of the realm, he was a bit of big name. So was his clan's motto. It's engraved into many suits of armour and even more stone walls. How exactly the clan ensured they never were 'behind' is a mystery. The shield isn't much more help."

"Do you have any solid link with the Norse or the rune stone?" Baird asked sincerely.

"None," replied the thief.

"Okay," nodded Baird. "Go help Stone with the translations of our new palimpsest."

Ezekiel groaned. "Really?"

"You have a better suggestion?" Baird paused.

"It looks like our old friends, the Serpent Brotherhood, are coming out of hibernation," pointed out Jones. "Would this not be the perfect time to start putting into action my plan to get back all the stuff they stole the last time they attacked the Library?"

Baird sighed. He was right. Jones had been working out the details of the heist for long enough. If they didn't try out his idea soon, they may find the sinister movement of the Serpent Brotherhood had moved the stash to a new location, and any advantage they had would be lost. "Okay," she decided. "Work on that. Flynn and I have our own case to worry about. Jenkins can help with the finer details. Cassandra: don't let him do anything too stupid or illegal!"

"Would I?" Jones held out his hands with an expression of the purest innocence. Baird and Cassandra looked at him, then at each other and laughed. The Colonel turned and headed down the stairs without a second glance.

"Stone!" Baird called. "What have you got?"

"We're right about it being a palimpsest," the art historian replied. "These are all messages, at least all the ones I've translated so far."

He passed the notebook, complete with Cassandra's scribbled rune copies and his neat translations, over to the Guardian. She looked down and flicked through the pages. Each sentence was a warning of some type. Some cryptic and unclear, others direct. None of them wholly understandable out of context. Behind her she felt Flynn come up and read the book over her shoulders. She passed it to him and turned to Stone.

"Any way we can tell when each of these were written?" Baird enquired.

"I got nothing," Stone shook his head. "We're lucky we can even read these! There's no way we can tell when even the top one was written, let alone the ones that have been erased to make room for it."

"These might coincide with earthquakes," suggested Flynn, pointing out a handful of the most recent entries. "That one there could be when the dragons woke up and Ezekiel ran the conclave. This one could be the time they woke up before that."

Eve and Stone peered at the quotes in question. "The great lizards of Midgard awaken," read Stone. "Treachery causes the core of the world to tremble."

"Sounds about right, plus there are the right number of globe sized near-cataclysmic events in between," shrugged Flynn.

"Let's say that those two are the dragons waking up," said Eve. "That doesn't explain our level of the stone. Nor does it have anything to do with our trip to Norway. What have you found out there, Librarian?"

"Ah, well," began Flynn. "It looks like our winged ice-mummy was just a man, but he had built himself a pair of wings."

"Like Icarus?" Eve asked, thinking back to the familiar Greek myth.

"Actually, it was his father that built the wings, but more or less," said Flynn. "But we've got those wings already. Icarus' father's, not Icarus': they were destroyed as the story tells. These wings belong to another character from mythological history, entirely."

"And I just know you're dying to tell me which one," Eve smiled.

"Why yes I am, Guardian, how did you guess?" Flynn grinned back. "There was in Norse mythology a smith of the human race, although it was said that he had elf blood in his lineage. His name was Völund. He married the Valkyrie, Hervor, and for a time they were happy. Then she became restless and left him. In his grief he spent each day making a beautiful golden ring for her should she return. He strung the rings on a thread in his home, or forge, and one day some king's men saw the rings and took one back to their liege. The king decided he wanted Völund to smith for him, so he captured the man, ham-stringed him and imprisoned him on the island of Saevarstad. Völund plotted quietly both his escape and his revenge. Once he was sure of the latter, he put the former into play and flew off the island with the wings he had made for himself. He allegedly flew all over the world searching for his lost bride."

"Huh, how romantic," Eve raised an eyebrow. "Just so you know: I ever walk out on you, don't waste your time making rings to get me back. Get off your backside and come find me first!"

"To each their own," Flynn shrugged. "But I hope you know: if you ever walked out on me like that, I'd be too devastated to even make a paper aeroplane, never mind seven hundred lovingly crafted gold rings."

"Seven hundred?" Eve gaped.

"Apparently he counted them every day," nodded Flynn.

Eve took the bag Flynn handed her and they began to head over to the back door together. Flynn had just spun the globe when Jenkins and da Vinci finally rejoined the group.

"Da Vinci," Baird called. "I need you working with Stone down here on the rune stone. We know it's a palimpsest. We know what the phrases are that have been inscribed on it through the ages. I need you to try and use your genius to work out if there is any way we can date each of the layers."

The old master nodded and headed over to the desk and Stone. Jenkins shot Baird a warning look. He was not happy with Leonardo's interference at the best of times, but that morning has worsened his mood further.

"Jenkins I need you helping Jones out with his plans for the big heist," said Baird, nodding her head in the direction of the stairs. "We're moving up the timeline in view of our little warning there. He's going to need your help with a few things."

As the old man nodded and began to move past her, she shot out an arm and grabbed him. Flynn joined the two as they bent their heads together and lowered their tones. "I need you to keep an eye on Cassandra too," whispered Baird. "She sensed the Stone of Destiny while it was still under the ground, then used its magic to beat up a bunch of would be attackers."

"Actually," cut in Flynn, "the way you've described it to me, and Cassandra has described it to me, it's more like she used its magical field to manipulate objects within that same magical field. Like setting off ripples in a pond to move a leaf on the opposite side."

"Nevertheless," interjected Jenkins. "Colonel Baird is correct: a close eye should be kept on Miss Cillian at all times. She is just discovering these abilities, without tutelage. There is no telling what else she may discover she can do."

"Have you come across anything like this before?" Eve asked the Caretaker.

"Once or twice, he admitted. "The cases are few and far between."

"How did those turn out?" Flynn asked, his face deadly serious.

"Some not so good," Jenkins admitted. "But for the most part, it's almost certainly going to depend on her."

"Anyone you know that can help you?" Baird asked. "Flora maybe?"

"I will talk to Flora," sighed Jenkins, as if he'd rather be having all his teeth pulled. He leant over past them and re-spun the globe. "Norway. Off you pop. Please don't bring me any holiday souvenirs."

Christmas was just round the corner. Thanksgiving had not gone well with the addition of da Vinci. He and Jenkins went back too far. And now here was another holiday they could fill with their enmity. Baird sighed.

XXXX

In a corner of a candlelit room, an acolyte rummaged through a box. He brought out a set of chains with a small sigh of relief. Hurrying over to the circle in the centre of the room, he presented the chains to a robed figure.

"The chains of the wolf have been broken," intoned the acolyte. "The serpent stirs!"

"The serpent stirs!" Chorused the rest of the circle.

"And the world shall be made anew," finished a figure in an obviously superior robe. Instead of simple black and red cloak, this one was interwoven with knotted designs, black on the red, red on the black. Around the edges, gold thread picked out geometrical hems. Edges were important. Things happened at edges.

XXXX

Jenkins watched his two charges with interest. They stood looking down at Ezekiel's plan of the warehouse where they had found Dulaque's secret stash of Library items. They both seemed happy enough. Eve and Flynn were gone now, and no doubt would be a while before they were back. He left the two junior Librarians and headed to his lab. There was a mirror there, smaller than the full length one in the office, but easily big enough to use for faces. He muttered an incantation, then held his breath.

"Galeas," said the unsurprised voice on the other side of the mirror. "And what can I do for you?"

"Flora," Jenkins breathed her name like a prayer. "I think I need your help. One of our younger Librarians has developed magical ability. I think I know how, and why, but I need your skills to determine how best to deal with this phenomenon."

"Always to the point," the old woman cackled. She drew a breath and sobered, composing herself before looking up and into his eyes. "I never thought I'd hear my name spoken that way again, Galeas. The older the wound, the more painful it is to reopen, it seems."

"There were wounds on both sides, Flora," said Jenkins quietly. "Some have never closed."

"Be that as it may," the old woman waved the sentiment away. "None of this helps find out what is gong on with your Librarian."

"No," agreed Jenkins, softly.

"So begin at the beginning," ordered the Cailleach. "Tell me her story. As much as you know and as well as you know how to tell it."

"It begins as all stories ought," replied Jenkins. "Once upon a time, there was a girl..."


	40. For the Ring, Chapter 3

"Come on then," sighed Eve, pulling her coat closer around her in the day-long darkness of the Norwegian winter.

"What?" Flynn glanced over at her, fixing his hood into place.

"Are you going to tell me how you knew which winged man we were looking for?" Eve asked plainly.

"Ah, that," nodded Flynn, setting off from the ice covered hut the door had brought them to. He glanced up at the sky, checked local time on his phone and picked a direction. "Well, that's where the more gruesome part of Völund's story comes into play. You remember I told you about the king who hamstrung him and trapped him on an island?"

"And after he took his revenge on the king, he used his wings to fly away," added the Guardian, following her Librarian closely. "I remember."

"Well, what I didn't tell you was what form his revenge took," began her fiancé. He skidded on the snow as the land beneath it turned downhill. Arms flapping, he landed on his backside and slid down the hill until the mass of compressed snow ahead of him held him up.

"I'm guessing he killed the king?" Eve wondered, reaching his side and holding out a hand.

"No, much more gruesome than that," Flynn grinned, getting to his feet with her help and dusting himself off. "The king had made Völund live for many years with his imprisonment and disfigurement. The smith made sure his captor had to live with the pain of his revenge. The king was married, you see. He had a wife and three children, one girl two boys..."

"I'm not sure I like where this is going," interrupted Eve, resettling his head torch into place.

"I'll keep it short," offered Flynn, letting his arms hang still by his sides as she finished readjusting his mis-aligned accoutrements. "The two boys were as horrible as their father. They tormented Völund and laughed at him. One day, they went in secret to his island to ask him to make them each a sword. Völund pretended to comply, then killed the boys, buried their bodies and set their skulls in silver to make a pair of drinking cups. He used his elf-magic to turn their eyes into precious gems and set their teeth in a beautiful brooch. The cups he presented to their father, the gems to their mother and the brooch to their sister. The king never knew of the smith's deception until he landed on his roof during his escape to tell him of it."

"That is horrible," frowned Eve, removing two pairs of hiking sticks from his satchel and handing him one pair. "How does it help us, exactly?"

"The clipping about the body wasn't the only one on the page," admitted Flynn, leading the way forward again. "There was also a report of a pair of silver skull drinking cups being sold at auction for a tidy sum, along with a 'pearl' brooch."

"No gems?" Eve enquired, following him down the slope.

"No," Flynn shook his head, "but they wouldn't necessarily have remained with the others all this time. I know it technically gives us two sites to investigate, and it might be the skulls and teeth that are the main item, and it will take us longer to investigate both alone, and we could have sent a couple of the others out to visit the new owner of the rather grisly jewellery..."

"Three 'ands'," cut in Eve with a smile.

"But is it a crime to want to spend some time alone with my bride to be?" Flynn continued without missing a beat. "Besides, we need them all working on their little projects back home."

"And you want Cassandra somewhere safe," added Eve. "She's the most available for something like that right now."

"Indeed," nodded the Librarian. "I just didn't want to make it four."

"Don't think it counts if it's in a different sentence," grinned Eve.

"I'll take your word for it," he replied. They had reached the bottom of the slope, and a road of some sorts stretched out before them. Flynn leant down to examine the markings in its compacted surface. "I think I know where we can get some transport."

"Oh?" Eve looked down at the road in deepest suspicion. "Where? Or should I say 'what kind'?"

Her fiancé turned to her with a grin that did nothing to lessen her worries. "How do you feel about dog sleds?"

XXXX

The lens da Vinci was using magnified his eye into the realm of the grotesque. He had been studying the stone without interruption or sound for an hour and more. He dropped the lens onto the desk with a clatter. "Mio Dio! Questo è irritante! Can you not cease that infernal noise!"

Stone looked up from his scribbling of translations, a startled look on his face and an apology ready on his lips, but da Vinci's face was turned up to the mezzanine. Two heads appeared, one black haired, one red. Both bore expressions of polite confusion. Well, one was polite.

"Not sure what you're on about, mate," called down Ezekiel. "Couldn't hear anything up here."

"It was from you, I am certain! The tune, the," da Vinci paused, searching his brain for a word long relegated to the archives of memory. "Ah, the whistling. You whistle while you work!"

Ezekiel looked at Cassandra. "Is he calling me a dwarf?"

"You whistle all the time, Ezekiel," admitted his friend. "At least when you're happy and focussed on something."

"She's right," called up Stone. "You probably don't even know you're doing it."

"Do I do that out in the field too?" Jones frowned. "Because that really not a good thing for a thief to do."

"No, only in here," Cassandra shook her head. "Maybe you're concentrating on being quiet out in the field, so you don't."

"More likely he just feels more relaxed here," broke in Jenkins from the doorway. "This is home now, after all."

"This, no," Ezekiel shook his head as the Caretaker climbed the stairs to join them. "This is just temporary, while I was ill and now while we deal with all the little crisissy things..."

"Crises," corrected Stone and Leonardo automatically.

"I still have an apartment," said Ezekiel. "I could move back any time."

"Your landlord sent over the rest of your belongings a month ago," Jenkins told him. "Don't think I didn't notice. You're not the only one here all the time."

"Okay, so I'm between apartments at the moment," the thief admitted. "Once the current crisis is over, I'll find a new one."

"Hmm," Jenkins raised an eyebrow. "Come and show me where you are with this plan of yours. If you start whistling again, I'll be sure to join in."

"Polemico vecchio crociato!" Leonardo yelled as the three heads disappeared.

"Cavaliere, non crociato, pittore!" Jenkins called back, unseen.

"Arrogante vecchio pazzo!" Da Vinci raged back.

"Speak for yourself!" Jenkins sing-songed from above.

"Parla per te," da Vinci spat, turning back to the desk and the stone. He paused. He peered. He pointed at the stone. "Santa cielo! Giacobbe, look at this. Presto!"

Stone put Cassandra's notepad to one side and joined da Vinci at the desk. He looked where the artist indicated and his eyebrows went up. The runes on the stone were gone. In their place were a new set, as clear as though they had been freshly cut that morning.

"That ain't good," murmured Stone, mentally translating both script and language as he read. "The queen of hell rises."

XXXX

"That's quite the mechanism you have there," Jenkins opined, looking down at the diagram unfurled on the reading table. "Are you sure it'll work?"

"It has the genie seal of approval," smirked Jones. "I asked, and I received."

"You'll need ten representations to make it work," pointed out the Caretaker. "One for either end of each axis."

"I know," Jones nodded. "We need representations of things we know they've stolen. Things we didn't get back last time, that they still have."

"Good representations too," added Jenkins. "I can build the mechanism for you, and I can make a list of the items still unaccounted for, but I can only swear to three, maybe four good representational items that I can think of to link to them, and none of them something we want to let loose on a five-dimensional tracker."

"Then what do you suggest?" Ezekiel shrugged. "This is what the genie showed me. It works."

"Then I suggest," sighed the old man, "as much as it pains me to do so, that it is not my skills you need for this. At least not my skills as such. I suggest you ask someone more inventive, with a malicious streak for model making."

"You want me to work with the whistle hater," Ezekiel nodded in understanding. Cassandra glared at him. "Fine, you want me to work with Leonardo," he corrected himself.

Jenkins nodded, his face screwed up into a tight grimace. "You have no idea how much it pains me to say his name, but you need to ask da Vinci. He has the expertise in creative stuff."

XXXX

Flynn and Eve arrived at the dog sled hire firm and booked passage up to the glacier. The ride was uncomfortable, unpleasant and uninteresting. Aurora flickered in the sky above them, each watching the light show through their snow goggles. Finally they arrived at the glacier and unpacked their gear. They headed over to the nearest glut of people. Flynn was surprised to find they were gradually being surrounded with more archaeologists yet again. He looked round the place. Somewhere, deep inside the glacier, a light shone out into the night sky. Flynn walked over to the nearest person and asked them what was happening.

"Professor Davenport won't let us anywhere near the finds," complained a well-dressed young woman. "She's getting paranoid!"

"Professor Davenport?" Flynn frowned. "Where is she?

The student indicated the light in the glacier and Flynn and Eve hurried over to it. Sure enough, carefully removing layer after layer of ice from the frozen wings and body, was Emily.

"Emily Davenport, we meet again!" Flynn called cheerily. "Now just what have you found here?"

Emily flashed a dazzling smile at him. "Oh, I get the feeling you already know."


	41. For the Ring, Chapter 4

"Well, Librarian?" Emily asked, once the ice cave had been cleared of everyone else. "What do you know that brought you and your Guardian here?"

"Fiancée," Eve corrected with a smile.

"Of course," Emily smiled back.

"Oh joy," muttered Flynn under his breath.

"What was that?" Emily asked politely. "Didn't quite catch it."

"Völund," said Flynn, raising his voice and meeting Emily's steady gaze. "We got a tip that Völund the smith had been found."

"Weyland," Emily replied.

"I'm sorry, what?" Eve's smile was turning slightly brittle.

"Weyland the smith, not Völund the smith," Emily smiled sweetly.

"They are the same person!" Flynn interrupted. "Can we not start that all over again!"

"You've had this argument before?" Eve was looking at Flynn now, with that same bright, sharp smile.

"Just arguments in general," Flynn explained, waving his hands in front of his face as if they were a shield against that ice cold glare. "Emily always seems to think she knows better than me because she has more degrees. When we were in Africa together she corrected me about everything. It was incredibly annoying!"

"Oh, you were in Africa together?" The fixed smile continued.

"Yes... I told you... King Solomon's Mines," Flynn floundered, knowing he had put a foot wrong somewhere, but not entirely sure where. He decided it was time to change the subject, at least for now. He turned back to Emily. "Why, er... Why are you here, exactly?"

"This is my dig," Emily replied, her smile brightening as the flustered Flynn ran a hand through his hair, leaving half of it standing on end. "You haven't changed."

"You have!" Flynn blurted. He saw Emily blink and immediately went into explanation mode. "I mean, what, er, what happened to the Queen of Sheba? Possible ruler of all Africa? That was all you ever wanted to study."

"Things changed when I met you, Flynn," she shrugged. "I went back to studying Sheba for a while. Made quite a few discoveries too. But I knew magic was out there, legends were real. I hit a point where curiosity got the better of me: I just had to take a look. I joined some Egyptian digs, and some Greek ones. Found Troy. Dug up some Roman mosaics. Worked my way around Europe, learning about one history then the next until I wound up on a dig in Denmark that rang some bells with one of the Scandinavian legends. That caught my interest properly. I've been looking for Norse heroes and legends ever since. I was looking for the forge of Reginn, where the Norse hero Sigurd was brought up, when my work led me to this glacier, or the land underneath it, anyway. We've been tunnelling into it for quite some time now. Imagine my surprise when the form of a winged man began to appear in the ice. I've been keeping the rest away and waiting for you to turn up ever since."

"Oh," blinked Flynn. "That, er, makes sense. That was very, um, very thoughtful of you, Emily, er, Professor Davenport."

"Oh, Emily is fine, Flynn," beamed the archaeologist. "We left things on good terms after all, didn't we."

"Did we?" Eve enquired, smiling at Flynn. "How nice."

"We did, er," Flynn avoided either woman's gaze. "We parted as friends. Ten years ago. A lot can happen in ten years, well a lot has happened in ten years, I mean..."

Eve turned his face to look at her. The way his face softened when he met her eyes was something she hoped Emily had been watching. She kissed him. When she drew back, she was certain she was the only woman in the world he was aware of, never mind the cave. "Why are we here, Librarian?"

"Right," he breathed, "the other story."

"I'm sorry? What story?" Emily demanded.

"You were looking for Regin the smith, you got Völund," he said, now focussed entirely on the body in the ice behind her. "Two famous smiths from the Prose and Poetic Edda of Norse legends. You followed one set of clues and ended up here, we followed another and ended up in the same place. Why? You said you were looking for a forge? Could your clues have led you to Völund's forge instead of Regin's?"

"They might have," Emily admitted.

"Where are they?" Eve demanded.

"Back at my hotel room," Emily bristled.

"Is that secure?" Eve pressed

"I put them in the safe," Emily sniffed. "You don't seriously think I would leave something so precious lying around under the bed or something do you?"

Flynn opened his mouth, but Eve clamped a hand over it. She gave him a look, then looked back to Emily. "Take us there, we need to see them. You can let your team look after the body for the moment," she told the slighter woman. "It's just the remains of an overconfident inventor trying out his idea for an early flying machine, after all, isn't it?"

"I..." Emily paused under Eve's glare. She returned it stare for stare, but the Colonel eventually won out. Emily's shoulders sank. "Fine. Overconfident inventor it is. I can sell that story to my team."

"Good," Eve smiled triumphantly. "We'll take a look round here while you do that and bring them in."

Nose in the air and lips pursed, Emily departed. Flynn had his nose up to the ice before she had even left the cavern.

He traced the outline of the wings, just visible in the ice, and looked over to his wife-to-be. "How do you think he made them?"

"You're the brains here," she shrugged, not meeting his eyes. "You tell me."

"What did I do now?" Flynn whispered, stepping over to her and wrapping an arm about her waist. She raised an eyebrow at him. "We were just talking! Talking! Not smiling, not flirting, not forgetting about my wonderful, beautiful, amazing fiancée standing right next to me glaring at me as if I was ignoring her entirely and you're doing it again! Stop doing that! What did I do?"

"Next time," smiled Eve, icily. "Try not to sound quite so pleased to see your ex-girlfriend who you travelled across Africa with and who is way smarter than I am."

"Ah, er, not really smarter, per se," Flynn's face contorted as he searched for words. He wrapped his other arm around her. "Not exactly smarter, just... Just a different kind of smart. She's good at facts and history and digging and you're good at people and tactics and fighting and survival skills and so much more."

"Any particular reason you've been edging closer and closer to me all through that little speech?" Eve raised an eyebrow at him again. "Because, if you think flirting and flattery are going to get you out of this, you're going to have to do a lot better than that."

"The idea had not even begun to speculate," he replied airily, "about the possibility of crossing my mind." He kissed her gently, resting his forehead against hers. "I just don't feel complete without you."

Eve smiled, and this time it reached her eyes and warmed her features. "That's a good start."

XXXX

"The boy knows what he's doing," Jenkins hissed sharply. "Just listen to him and you'll see. He's a Librarian now, not you. You walked away. If you're staying, make use of yourself and help him."

"A Librarian works alone, with the companionship, protection and aid of a Guardian only," returned Leonardo. "If he is as great a Librarian as you seem to think he is, or will be, standards have dropped since my day!"

"Yes," Jenkins retorted. "Now we value loyalty and courage more than genius and arrogance! Will you help him? Yes or no?"

Da Vinci turned his face away, looking out over the office, both down to the desk he had been working at and up to the mezzanine he had been asked to move to. "The stone changes of its own accord. There is nothing more I can find out from it. I may as well be where my skills will be appreciated."

"Thank you!" Jenkins stormed down the stairs and over to the central desk. He looked down at the stone. "My turn now. Let's see what secrets I can wring out of you."

Stone looked up. He had heard the tone of the conversation on the stairs, if not the words, and he knew the scowl that now graced Jenkins' face. He walked over and put the book down in front of the old knight. "These any help?"

Jenkins looked down at the notepad and flicked backward through the pages. His mouth grew slacker the further back, or onward through time, he read. When he reached the first set of runes Cassandra had copied, those now superseded by the current message, his mouth was open and his eyes glazed. When he spoke, he didn't take his eyes off the current runes. "Did you show these to da Vinci?"

"He never asked to see them, and I wasn't done," shrugged Stone. "Why? What's it all mean?"

"It's a Runestone," said Jenkins, as if that explained everything.

"We knew that, didn't we?" Stone asked. "It's a stone with runes on it."

"Runestone, not rune stone," clarified Jenkins. "Capital R, all one word, much rarer, magical and usually only found in places like Sweden and Norway. Scandinavia. The Norse strongholds."

"I'm guessing it wasn't created just to come out with pithy one liners at random intervals," sighed Stone. "Nothing I've translated in that book sounds great, but the messages are getting decidedly worse as you get to the present day. What is it? Some kind of magical twitter feed?"

"No, it's... Since when did you start using twitter?" Jenkins frowned at the cowboy.

"Jones made me check his while he was 'recuperating'," he shrugged.

Jenkins shook his head. "No, it is more an oracle than a 'twitter feed'. These messages are warnings, not reports. They are omens, even, foreshadowing an event that grows ever nearer. The closer we get to that event, the sterner the message, the blacker the imagery."

"What event?" Stone breathed, matching the volume of his voice to the low tones Jenkins was using.

"That, Mr Stone, is the question," sighed the Caretaker. "Excuse me. I think I need to confer with Flora about this."

Stone waved a hand at the full length mirror that rested at the far end of the desk. Jenkins shook his head.

"I think I would rather use my private line, if you don't mind," said Jenkins quietly. He flicked his eyes up to the mezzanine. "We may be discussing other things that I would rather certain people not overhear."

Stone nodded, understanding. "I'll go see how she's coping with Jones on one side and da Vinci on the other."

Jenkins watched him head up the stairs, then turned and hurried to his lab. The mirror sat where he had left it. He said the words of the incantation and deposited the notebook on the desk in front of him. Flora's face came into view.

"That was quick," stated the old woman. Her voice was completely devoid of emotion, but it was exactly that that told Jenkins she was worried. "Either she's developed a serious level of magical ability in a very short time or you've found something equally serious you need my help with."

"The latter," Galeas winced. "Although I do have a bit more information about the enchanting Miss Cillian too, and another item she has asked me to speak to you about."

"Tell the worst first," sighed the Cailleach. "There are storm clouds gathering and Corryvreckan has been roaring all day. A sure sign that winter is coming, and not the passing season the people of this world are used to."

"A winter lasting three years?" Galeas asked. "I fear, my old, old friend, that winter started before any of us even noticed."

XXXX

Ezekiel Jones, World Class Thief, looked critically at the star-like contraption hanging from a lantern stand.

"What are you still missing?" Stone asked. He had listened to the explanation. He was fairly sure the only reason he believed it was because he knew Jones had asked the Genie for the solution. The artefacts required were quite specific in their type and placement and four places lay empty.

"Negative Water represented by a representation of the Judas Chalice," replied the younger man, pointing to the lower end of the y-axis bar. "Positive Light on the time axis needs a representation of the Crystal Skull of Atlantis. Positive Earth on the x-axis should have something to link to the Celtic Cross of Saint Patrick."

"Shouldn't that be on the Light axis, what with the sun motif and all?" Stone queried.

"The dude used it to chase all the snakes off the island and it's made of the stone he build his first church in. I'm going with Earth. Plus, that's what the Genie told me."

"Okay, and the last one?" Stone moved on. "I get the four dimensions of height, length, depth and time, but the fifth?"

"In our world, magic has its own dimension," Cassandra explained from his other side. "Sweetie, you walk through another dimension every time you walk out of this office! The entire Library only exists because of the magical dimension it's in! Well, it seems Dulaque learned that trick too, and therefore we need something to represent the dimension of magic. Two things: one for either end. And the one we're missing is something to link in to the Sacred Cat statuette of Tutankhamun."

"I think I may have an idea for that," Stone mused, tucking a strand of the shimmering red curls behind his girlfriend's ear. "Baird and Flynn brought something similar back while we were in France. Leonardo and I passed it just the other day when we were taking the tour."

"I know the item you mean," da Vinci nodded. "You'd never get it in the cage though, it's far too large."

Each metal bar axis had a small spherical cage welded to either end. Three clips could be released to separate the two halves of the sphere and insert the object to be used. The vertical height axis was to be bound by artefacts linked to the ancient element of Water, the horizontal axis of length by artefacts linked to the element of Earth, depth was bound by Fire. The fourth bar, representing the axis of time, crossed through all the other three axes diagonally. The fifth bar crossed all four diagonally. Each sphere was just about large enough to hold an orange.

"Maybe not the statuette itself," Stone shrugged, "but we've used pictures of stuff before and it's worked."

"Yeah, but that was a representation of where we were going, or something there, anyway," countered Jones. "A picture of that statuette would be a representation of a representation of something where we're going. It would just link back to the one in the Library."

"Excuse me," da Vinci cut in. "Did you just say you could use a picture of the object to work this contraption?"

"Well, yes," replied the thief. "But first we'd need something to take the picture of. It only works with photos, not drawings. At least not any we've made. They're not accurate enough."

"And the cat statuette in question was black, say one cubit tall?" Da Vinci persisted.

Stone nodded. "Sounds like one I spotted when we first got here."

"That's the one," Jones agreed. "Why?"

"I have a photographic memory, young man," declared the artist. "And that statuette was here in my day too. I may be old, but I am willing to bet I am still one of the greatest, if not the greatest, copyist on the planet. Give me paper and a few other materials and I will make you a picture of your statuette that will look even more real than any of your high definition cameras could make it."


	42. For the Ring, Chapter 5

Flynn and Eve looked around them. Emily's team had all but taken over the small hotel, setting up their work rooms in the conference room, for the laying out, cleaning and cataloguing of small artefacts, and the basement, for larger items that needed to be thawed slowly. They had left her team cutting deep into the ice wall around the winged body. Flynn hadn't bothered to ask how they would cut the back of the block. Several solutions had presented themselves to his mind. He had said as much to Eve when she asked on the way to the hotel. That had been several hours ago now. Long enough for Emily to make good in her promise to show them the clues she had found. Long enough to look over every one of the artefacts from the dig so far, however briefly. There was little that linked directly to the body in the ice, but plenty that allowed the team to date their finds. They were currently estimating the body to be over 2000 years old.

The body itself was now sitting directly in front of them, still encased in its ice block, on the thick wooden table in the basement. The first time they had been down there, when Emily gave them the grand tour before talking them through all her finds, it had been cold enough to double as a walk in fridge, possibly freezer. It had been dug down into the permafrost layer, and the cold seeped through their warm clothes and straight into their bones. Now it was still cold, but not to quite such an extreme. Heating lamps were turned on the giant ice cube in the centre of the room. Their radiated warmth bounced off the polished ice surface of the cube and heated the room around them instead. Nonetheless, through the crystal clear ice, Flynn could now see much more of the smith than he ever had before.

The body was huddled in a protective ball, its arms wrapped around its knees. The wings hanging from what were now clearly harnesses were bent and broken. The head was tucked in. It was the attitude of a man who knew something was about to happen to him. It was certainly not the attitude of a man who had just crashed into a surprise mountain, glacier or snowdrift.

"I think he had already landed," mused Flynn, looking over the right side of the body. Something was bugging him about it. "I think he had landed and was walking somewhere."

"And then he what? Curled up and died?" Emily scoffed. "No, he flew into an ice wall in a blizzard and curled up to protect himself from the fall when his wings broke."

"He managed to land softly, then," countered Flynn. "I don't see any bruising or obvious broken bones."

"Snow is generally considered a softer landing than rock," Emily pointed out.

"Not that soft," murmured Flynn. He tipped his head to the side and looked again. A memory clicked into place featuring another mountain, and another snowdrift. "He was walking, and then he was caught in an avalanche. That explains how the worst of the damage is to his wings and back, not the area he was protecting."

"Not necessarily..." Emily began.

"Why would he be walking?" Eve cut in. "If he can fly, why walk?"

"Maybe his arms got tired?" Flynn hazarded.

"So then you stop and rest," Eve replied. "He didn't just stop and rest, he walked."

"Maybe he did stop and rest," argued Emily. "Maybe he was asleep and he heard the roar of the avalanche and huddled up to protect himself."

"Then where's his gear?" Flynn waved a hand around. "Regardless of changing tides, sea levels or weather fronts, he was caught in an avalanche. That means there's no way he would have stopped for any length of time without at least lighting a fire!"

"That's not all that's missing," Eve added. "Didn't you tell me on the way over here that this all started over a ring? Of the seven hundred he made her, one went missing and he couldn't let it go. He traced it back to the king and that was how he got caught."

"Yes," nodded Flynn. "Because the ring the king's men took was the one his wife gave to him on their wedding day. It was the ring that sealed the promise of their wedding vows."

"Did he get it back from the king?" Eve asked, walking round the glassy block, her eyes fixed on the form within.

"He did," Flynn nodded, catching her line of thought and following her gaze. "It was one of the things he did before leaving. He would have put it... He would have put it back on his finger."

Emily bristled. "The body predates the time of Christ," she said. "Any marriage ceremony then would have been a pagan hand fasting ceremony, not the Christian exchange of rings."

"Why not?" Flynn enquired. "Christianity stole plenty of other Pagan ideas. He was a smith. Making jewellery of any sort would be easy, but he famously makes rings. Why? To remind his wife of her promise."

"Okay, but I don't see how that helps us," Emily conceded.

"Look at his hands," Flynn waved a wand towards the body. "Where is the ring he went to such great trouble to steal back?"

"On a chain around his neck," Emily shrugged. "In a pouch by his waist. Why does it have to be on his finger? It was his wife's."

"No, it was the one his wife gave him," Flynn persisted. "It was his. It was his most prized possession. He would have been wearing it."

"Fine," Emily gave in with a shrug. "He was walking and his ring has gone. I don't see how that gets us any further."

"Why would he be walking," Eve asked again. "He has wings. It's a much faster way to travel in this landscape. He would only land for a handful of reasons. One: the visibility was so bad he couldn't fly in it for fear of crashing. Two: he was walking to meet a person he knew. Three: he was walking to reach a place nearby on the ground."

"Exactly," shouted Flynn, pointing triumphantly at his fiancée. "He had reached either a person or a place, and only one of those makes sense when you include the ring."

"The person," Emily sighed.

"No, the place," Flynn shrugged. "The person came along later, maybe much later. Dying in an avalanche isn't exactly on the battlefield, but he was fighting for something. I'm sure his wife would have thought that was an argument for bringing him to Valhalla. She was a Valkyr, you see. He landed to walk to somewhere nearby, died and she collected his soul, along with the ring she had given him years before."

"So where do you think he was heading, Librarian?" Eve grinned.

"I can't be sure until we find it, of course," Flynn began, picking up one of the other artefacts from the ice flow. "But I think he was going home."

XXXX

The warehouse was dark, dusty and quiet. The contraption had worked as Jones had been told it would. The door had opened into the familiar aisles of the warehouse. So far, they had moved a dozen or more boxes through the door into the Library, taking care to check each one for any of the items represented on the machine. Stone, Cassandra and Jones had ferried boxes back and forth to the office, while Jenkins and da Vinci had moved them elsewhere for safe keeping.

"I can't believe that actually worked!" Jones kept muttering.

"You ain't the only one," Stone muttered in passing one time.

"This is going to take days," Cassandra sighed. "We have barely cleared one aisle. Look at this place: there are hundreds of artefacts here. Thousands!"

"Then we take what we can," Jones decided.

They had continued ferrying boxes out of the warehouse and now had started on a new aisle. It would take a while, Jones knew. It would take days. The sooner you start a job, though, he shrugged. At least the place was abandoned now.

A sound made him halt. Was it abandoned? They hadn't heard anything from the Serpent Brotherhood in months. Since Dulaque's death, in fact. He raised a hand. Behind him, Cassandra and Stone froze. The noise sounded again. There was definitely someone else here. The trio put down their boxes and listened.

"The chains of the wolf have been broken," announced a voice, accompanied by a rattle of chains.

"The serpent stirs," added a second voice.

"The queen of hell rises," finished a third. "Our work here is almost done, brethren. Go, prepare yourselves for the next stage of the transformation."

Jones' jaw tightened, but he waited until the voices were definitely gone before he turned to the other two. "We need to get these boxes out of here and talk to Jenkins," he hissed. "I think I know what's going on."

"From that?" Cassandra's eyebrows went up. "How?"

Jones looked up and met her eyes with a steady gaze. "Because I know who the guy in charge was."


	43. For the Ring, Chapter 6

Stone crouched down, huddling close to the other two junior Librarians. "What the heck do you mean you know who he is? Is he one of your thieving buddies?"

"Hey! Enough with the judgy already!" Jones hissed back. "I've left all that behind me now!"

"Says the guy who planned the heist from a warehouse hidden in a pocket dimension!" Stone fumed. "There's one for the record books! What'll we call it? The TARDIS job?" 

"You know I only use my powers for good now," Jones protested, his never ending veneer of apathy wearing thin.

"Yeah, a regular white knight!" Stone retorted. "You tell your girlfriend what you used to do for a living? Or was it just for fun?"

Jones hadn't really expected the fist to connect with Stone's jaw. If he was honest he hadn't even realised he'd raised it until it was caught in mid air. The odd thing was, what he had expected to see, when he looked at his wrist, was Stone's hand wrapped around it. Maybe even Cassandra's. He hadn't expected the shimmering blue bubble, just on the edge of vision, that was actually encasing his fist and forearm.

Both men looked at Cassandra in shock. Her nose was bleeding and Stone was at her side before she keeled over and the semi-present blue glow vanished. Jacob brushed her hair back from her face and whispered her name, but she was out cold.

"Stuff the boxes," he breathed. "We need to get her out of here."

"Agreed," whispered Ezekiel. "We can always come back for the rest."

"Can you really?" The voice came from behind Ezekiel, but he knew who it was even before he turned to face it. "That's a neat trick for a secretary, Mr Smith. You really must show me how you plan on doing that. Right after you tell me who you really are, of course."

"You first Wilkins," retorted Jones, falling back on his usual sarcasm and impudence. "Are you even a professor? Name like that sounds more like a butler if you ask me."

"I didn't," smiled the Professor. "But I am a professor, so if you wouldn't mind addressing me by my proper title in future." Wilkins turned to the group of men behind him. "Take them to the vault."

XXXX

The geophysics equipment up in the hotel conference room had proved useful. Put together with previous data, Flynn and Emily had been able to use its programing to reconstruct a three dimensional image of the land under the glacier. They watched as the computer took them through a flyover of the land as it saw it. Eve hovered behind them, one hand possessively on Flynn's shoulder, just in case Emily should get any ideas.

"Stop, go back," Flynn ordered. Emily did so and he pointed out the amorphous lump in the landscape. "What's that?"

"Probably just an erratic," muttered Emily. "What exactly are we looking for?"

"I don't know," shrugged Flynn. "It doesn't make sense! Völund was a legend in the Viking Age, he's easily from much further back in time, say around the two thousand year mark. There's no fuel around here to run a forge, or there wouldn't have been then anyway. Nobody would have built that here."

"If he was from two thousand years ago, how did he managed to forge a sword for Charlemagne?" Emily countered.

"If he's not from two thousand years ago, how is he embedded in a glacier surrounded by artefacts from two thousand years ago?" Flynn retorted. "Swords do tend to last longer than the smiths that made them, and there's always the possibility two similar legends became one over the passage of time and the hundreds of verbal retellings."

"How would he have got in the glacier in the first place is what I'm wondering," interrupted Eve. "Shouldn't he be the human equivalent of a bug on a windshield?"

"Iron age hunters used to follow the reindeer herds up onto the glaciers in the summer. They were constantly dropping stuff," Emily explained. "Over time, as more snow adds to the top and pressure melts the base, the dropped items work their way down through the ice, or appear to anyway. They found a horse in one not that long ago!"

"Lovely," quipped Eve.

"But that still doesn't explain what he was doing here," said Flynn. "He must have been walking over the ice flow when some snow from the mountainside fell and killed him. The snow compacted, was added to the ice flow with the rest of that winter's snow, and he became a part of the glacier. But that still doesn't tell us where, all the way up on the top of a glacier, he was walking to. It can't have been his home: a smith wouldn't build a forge way out here."

"Maybe it wasn't his home, then," suggested Eve. "Maybe it was hers."

XXXX

Jenkins sat, tea untouched in the china cup beside him. He tugged at his chin thoughtfully. He had spent so much of his life in the service of the Library, and it's annex. He had given up so much. Made so many sacrifices. Now, it seemed, his past was catching up with him. The Library had sent them to find da Vinci, he pondered. Perhaps this was the Library's way of telling him he could retire properly. It had sent them, in a round about way, to Flora. That had been a part of his past he had been even less ready to face. He had faced it, though, and he had survived. Maybe that was another sign. The Library had brought Flora back into his life, and he into hers. Maybe it was suggesting that he retire somewhere specific. Not before Mr Carsen and Colonel Baird's wedding, of course.

Then there was the other matter. No, he couldn't leave before that was over. Not even with da Vinci to help out. It would take all of them. It would take artefacts. Specific artefacts. Some of which he knew were in the Library. Others he had discovered, to his dismay, were amongst those stolen by the Serpent Brotherhood. A few were out there in the world, waiting to be found. He would have to help there. There were too many and time was too short. Even with the items recovered in Jones' grand plan, there would be little enough time to stop this snowball rolling before it passed the point of no return. It was too late to stop it before it began. It had begun over a year ago. Now all they could do was stop it before it reached the final battle, _if_ they could. If they couldn't, they would need far more than the resources of just the Library to take on that fight with even a chance of winning.

He looked at his watch. He frowned. He had become so lost in his thoughts that he hadn't noticed the time since the last delivery of boxes through the back door. They should have been back hours ago. He cursed himself for a lazy, self-centred fool and rose from his chair yelling for da Vinci.

"Pazzo ignorante!" The answering enraged cry came from one of the workrooms the maestro had made his own. "Do you not know I am trying to work? All my treasures I left behind in that malvivente's attic. Perhaps once your practicante has finished chasing after what should not have been lost, he can help take back what was left behind!"

"Ah, cease thy piagnisteo, oræfta!" Jenkins snarled, appearing at the artist's door. "If you ever want a chance at stealing back your forgotten relics, leave that chiacchiere senza senso and follow me. As one of Mr Jones' favourite television heroes might say: allons-y!"

"Oho!" Leonardo laughed mirthlessly. "So your boy has run into trouble, has he? And no doubt dragged the pretty little redhead down with him."

Da Vinci walked into the back of Jenkins. He stepped back when the caretaker turned with a look of thunder. "You know that cowboy who has been following you around like a spaniel since you arrived?"

"Fancies himself an art critic, yes?"

"No, he does not _fancy_ himself anything. He _is_ an art historian, and a Librarian, with a higher IQ than you and a bar fighting track record that tells me he could quite possibly knock you clear into next week," said the Caretaker, his voice as sharp as steel. "You know that pretty little redhead you seem to like so much? That would be his girlfriend."

"I am an artist," shrugged da Vinci, sidling past Jenkins. "It is my job to see beauty in all things."

"Do not even think of asking her to pose for you," warned Jenkins. Da Vinci turned and opened his mouth to protest, but Jenkins silenced him with a glare and a raised finger. "Don't!"

XXXX

"Are you sure we can't narrow it down any further?" Flynn puffed, struggling to keep up with the two women as they trekked along the top of the glacier.

"You want to explain to my geophysics guys what we're looking for?" Emily called back. "I thought you'd be used to all this exercise by now? Keep up!"

"I'm just not used to having quite so much gear attached to me," he called back.

"Standard climbing gear, just in case we need it," Emily replied. She looked over to Eve. "Is he always like this? I'd have thought a job like his for ten years would have toughened him up a bit."

"Believe me, he's better than he would have been without the job!" Eve quipped. "How about you? Has your work 'toughened' you up?"

"I like to think so," Emily smirked. "I keep in shape when I don't have a dig, of course. I have to be ready for whatever landscape I find myself in."

"You were working on a dig when you first met him, weren't you?" Eve enquired, keeping her voice light. "In Africa?"

"In Morocco, in fact," Emily nodded, "near Casablanca."

"And he what? Just turned up one day, said 'hi, I'm the Librarian, fancy helping me find King Solomon's Mines'?" Eve persisted.

Emily paused and took a swig from her water bottle. "Funnily enough, no," she replied. "He actually tried to pass himself off as a geologist first, but I didn't believe him. Only after I caught him trying to break into my dig at night did he actually tell me what he was after."

"And you believed that?"

"Circumstances intervened," Emily shrugged. "After that, try as he might, he couldn't get rid of me. Not until it was all over of course."

"When you left to go study the Queen of Sheba," Eve nodded. "But you changed direction after a while, you told us, and that led you here. Was it just curiosity that made you do that?"

"What else would it be?" Emily asked coquettishly.

"You weren't, for example, hoping to bump in to Flynn again, by any chance?" Eve breezed.

"Oh, I always knew we'd bump into each other again eventually," sighed Emily. "I had faith."

"Really," Eve muttered. "Great!"

A muffled cry and a thud brought both women to a halt. They turned to see Flynn clambering to his feet.

"He still does that, huh?" Emily queried, making no move to help the Librarian to his feet.

"More often than you'd think," sighed Eve, folding her arms and waiting for her fiancé to catch up with them.

"Cave," panted Flynn, pointing. "Up there. Great vantage point, nice little ledge out front to park your flying horse on."

"Just as well we brought the climbing gear then," sing-songed Emily in triumph.

XXXX

The vault was precisely that. Solid, steel-lined walls surrounded by who knew what and no doubt doused in magic just for good measure. The lights only operated when the door was opened, but Jones had a good memory for details. Especially security details. Medical details, not so much though. He had no idea of the exact time they had spent in the vault, but his internal clock told him they were talking hours not minutes.

"How is she?" Ezekiel asked the darkness.

"Still out cold," Stone's voice was darker than the vault and twice as cold. "Pulse is steady, breathing's okay, but absolutely no response."

"She's never been out that long," murmured the thief. "Not even..."

"I know," Jacob cut him off.

"I'm sorry," Ezekiel breathed. "If I hadn't..."

"If I hadn't made that dig about your girl, you wouldn't have," admitted Stone. "That was uncalled for on my part, and I apologise. Neither of us knew Cassie could do that, though, and I doubt she'd have known the consequences herself. No need for you to apologise for that."

"If I hadn't hired Wilkins in the first place we wouldn't have been having that argument," Jones pointed out.

"Yeah, that's true," Stone admitted. "Fine, let's say I accept your apology. Now tell me who you should have hired?"

"The guy was top of his field by a mile," shrugged Jones. "Next person on the list would have been some dude from Germany."

"Exactly," sighed Stone. "There was nobody else. Nothing you could have done differently. So stop trying to apologise for something that ain't your fault. You looked into the guy's background, right."

"Closer than the Pentagon or their three letter flunkies would have," admitted Jones. "He was squeaky clean."

"Then there's no way you could have known," shrugged Stone.

"Doesn't make me feel any better about it," sighed Jones.

"I know," said Stone. "I've been there, remember, with far more cause for blame. It'll pass."

They sat in silence for a few moments. Jones rested his head against the cold steel wall and closed his eyes. He was just drifting off into a doze when Stone spoke again. "What was that other thing you said?"

"When?" Jones asked, not bothering to open his eyes.

"When you recognised Wilkins' voice," Stone clarified. "You said you knew what was going on."

"Just something I remembered hearing back at the dig," said Jones, sitting up. "He would stand there talking about all the fantastic Norse artefacts he'd found and the legends about them. I remember he was always more enthusiastic if the piece came from a legend about one or other of the Norse gods. He talked about the cup we were looking for too. Seemed to think it held the power to make a man immortal, like a god. Then when he was talking about transformation, it clicked. He has some crazy scheme to turn himself into a Norse god."

"Okay," said Stone carefully. "Let's say I'm buying that, for now. Which one?"

"I dunno," shrugged Jones. "He talked about a lot of them. Seemed to have a soft spot for Loki though. Must like fire."

"Or illusions," added Stone. "Loki was more than just the god of fire, he was a trickster god, playing both sides against each other. He did eventually settle down onto the side of evil, though."

"Although some do argue that he only did so because he was so shunned by the rest of the Aesir and Vanir," said Jenkins as the lights flickered on. "Oh my, what has happened to Miss Cillian?"

"She used magic, it knocked her out," Stone explained, getting to his feet with Cassandra still in his arms. "We got caught after that and she's been out ever since. Serpent Brotherhood were here. What happened to them?"

"There were a few guards," replied Jenkins airily, holding the door open for Stone. "Nothing we couldn't handle."

"Was Professor Wilkins here when you arrived?" Jones asked, following Stone out of the vault.

"Wilkins?" Jenkins frowned. "So he's their new leader. Did he tell you what they're up to?"

"Mentioned something about a transformation," answered Jones. "Nothing else. I think I know what he meant though."

"Judging by your conversation when I arrived, I think you probably do," replied the Caretaker. "What you don't know is why."

"And you do?" Da Vinci cut in, joining them, a book in his hand. He saw the look Jenkins gave him and shrugged. "What? It is my diary!"

"You couldn't have just brought the whole box?" Jenkins sighed.

The return trip to the library, past numerous unconscious guards, was uneventful. Da Vinci was left to unhook the back door and reset it back to Flynn and Eve's co-ordinates. Jenkins and Jones followed Stone through to the first aid room with Cassandra. The old man shooed the younger out of the way and made a quick examination of the patient. He placed a cooling pad on her forehead and stood up.

"There's nothing else we can do for now," he said, waving the two Librarians into chairs. "We just have to hope she wakes up of her own accord. Right now, though, we have bigger problems. The signs, the omens, the portents that the Runestone has been warning us about: they are coming to pass and quickly. Wheels have been set in motion, set in motion months ago, to start us on a very definite path. If Wilkins succeeds in becoming the avatar of Loki, those wheels will not stop until the final battle has been fought, and it is a battle I am not confident we can win."

XXXX

The climb hadn't been too arduous, but once again Flynn found himself left playing catch up. When he reached the top he found the two women laughing over some shared joke. "Oh, that's never a good sign," he grumbled.

"What was that darling?" Eve asked, reaching out to help him up onto the ledge.

"Nothing, nothing," breezed Flynn, dusting off his hands and looking at the shallow indentation in the cliff wall. "So here we are, eh? At Hervor's front door."

"Potentially," Emily corrected.

"I'd say definitely," argued Flynn. "I mean it's hard to spot if you don't know what you're looking for but the shimmer around the edge of the cave mouth? Definitely a glamour of some kind."

"A glamour?" Emily folded her arms and raised an eyebrow at him.

"Try it out," said Flynn. "Walk into the cave."

"There's nothing there!" Emily protested.

"Have a little faith," shrugged Flynn.

Emily looked him up and down and considered for a moment, then stepped forward into the cave.

She disappeared

"What the..." Eve began.

"Shall we, my dear?" Flynn enquired, holding out his hand.

"Whatever you say, Librarian," she replied.

As they stepped into the cave, the world changed, as if they had stepped through a bead curtain. The process was familiar to Eve. It was the same shift in air and temperature that she had felt when she and Cassandra had stepped into the back room of the dress shop in New York. They were in another dimension. She looked around her, taking in the extended interior of the cavern they were now in. Her eyes came back round to centre and alighted on the figure of an armoured woman, currently holding a knife against Emily's throat.

"Hervor?" Flynn tried. The woman's eyes turned to him. "Hello. My name is Flynn Carsen. I'm the Librarian. We came here to find you."

"You have found me," replied Hervor, in accented English. "Now what is your intention, Librarian?"

"We found your husband," said Eve softly. "We saw he was missing his ring."

With her free hand, Hervor drew a cord from her neck. Upon it was the missing ring. "When his soul left his body, I heard it cry out to me," she said. "But I may only attend those who die in battle, not by misadventure. I sought him out. I made this glacier his tombstone. And I took back the ring I had once given him as a promise of my love. It was ill done. I made a promise to him that day that I could not keep. I promised I would stay with him until my dying day. I broke that vow."

"We cannot change out natures," said Flynn. "We just came to find the ring because we think that is why the Library sent us here. Not Emily there, she was the archaeologist who discovered your husband's body. Myself and Eve. She's my fiancée and my Guardian."

Hervor dropped the knife and pushed Emily away from her. She walked to an inlaid coffer and raised the lid, drawing out a shimmering string of gold rings. "The rings that my husband and I wore are cursed by my broken vow," she said. "These rings are not. They were made by him in pure love for me. May they always prove a blessing on your union."

Taking two of the rings from their cord, she handed them to Flynn. He stared at his hand as if she had just handed him a second Philosopher's Stone.

"The giving and receiving of rings is still common in mortal marriage ceremonies, I believe?" Hervor enquired.

"I, um, I don't know what to say," floundered Flynn. "Thank you. How can I repay you?"

"Tell me where my husband's body lies, that I may retrieve it," she replied. "I would once more make this ice flow his tomb, where he lies ever under my gaze."

XXXX

The office was quiet and still when the Librarian and his Guardian returned. They made their way through to the lab and found Jenkins, Jones and da Vinci with their heads bent over a series of scrolls.

"Where's Stone?" Baird asked, immediately suspicious of the serious looks on all three faces.

"First aid room," Jenkins replied. "Miss Cillian is resting and he is with her. We have a larger issue to deal with."

Flynn nudged Eve and she glared at him then looked back at Jenkins. "Whatever it is," she said, "can it wait for two minutes? I have something I need to ask you, privately."

Jenkins blinked. "I guess so," he replied. "Leo and Mr Jones can take Mr Carsen to see Miss Cillian. They can fill him in on the way."

Obediently, Jones left and dragged Flynn with him. Da Vinci glowered but followed after a moment's staring contest with Jenkins. The old knight turned back to Eve.

"How can I help you, Colonel Baird?" Jenkins asked as the door swung shut.

Eve took a moment to compose herself, then spoke. "Flynn pointed out to me on the way back here that there was something I had forgotten to do," she began. "In all the hustle and bustle of organising the wedding and organising Flynn and doing this job, I forgot something that I have to do myself."

"Which is?"

"Jenkins, you know my parents are both long gone," said Eve, taking the old man's hand. "And I'm really not that close to the rest of my family. I wondered, I was hoping, that you would do me the honour of walking me down the aisle."

"Colonel Baird," said Jenkins softly, covering her hand with his own, "the honour would be mine."

"Thank you," she said, kissing his cheek. "Now for the bad news: what did we miss?"

Jenkins picked up the scrolls and spread them out for her. "Quite a lot, I'm afraid. Mr Jones uncovered the new leader of the Serpent Brotherhood, and he's been running our dig in Gamla Uppsala for us. The Runestone changed under our very noses and provided us with another cutting insight into our future. Mr Stone finished the translations and I, with some help from Flora, interpreted them. An interpretation then borne out by information gathered by Mr Jones and company while they were attempting to retrieve more of our lost artefacts. We did get some back, but by no means all."

"So do we know how all this fits together?" Baird asked, wincing as she tried to join the pieces of information up in her mind.

"Unfortunately we do," said Jenkins, turning her to face him. "Put together, the signs all say one thing."

"And that is?" Baird frowned.

"Ragnarok is coming."


	44. For The Sword, Chapter 1

Christmas in the Library that year was the quietest yet. Cassandra was gone, taken by Jenkins and Stone, though not Ezekiel, to Dunvegan, where she remained under Flora's care. Stone divided his time between the Library and the castle, taking his workload to Cassandra's bedside whenever he could. Cases still popped up in the clippings books, but most were minor issues, easily dealt with. Da Vinci had been dragged back into the world of the Library by Jenkins and took his share of the research and the cataloguing of artefacts retrieved in the failed heist mission. Jenkins had divided his time between overseeing the cataloguing and helping Jones take on most of the new cases. Flynn and Eve, with the help of Stone had been focussed entirely on their newest threat. Ragnarok. The twilight of the gods. The end of the world as it is. The rebirth of the world anew. History's next great mass extinction.

"How is she?"

Stone turned and looked up. He had been so engrossed in his own thoughts as he returned to the office, he hadn't noticed Jones up on the mezzanine, leaning over the balcony. He nodded an acknowledgement to the thief. "No change. Good or bad."

"And the others?" Jones asked tentatively. "Any news there?"

"Your girlfriend's asking for you, if that's what you mean," Stone sighed, leaning on the central desk and rubbing a hand across heavy eyes. "Her mother's asking _about_ you and great-to-the-power-of-God-knows-what grandma Flora gave me a letter for Jenkins. She's still confident Cassie will wake up in her own time, once the drain on her aura or whatever has recharged. She just doesn't know when that will be, since we don't know what exactly Cassie did in the first place to knock herself out."

"Like, the more juice she got from the artefacts around her, the bigger the recoil on her?" Ezekiel wondered aloud.

"Yeah, somethin' like that," Jacob murmured, sagging back onto the desk.

"Mate, you are dead on your feet," said Ezekiel, heading over to the stairs. "When was the last time you slept?"

Stone shook his head. "I caught a few hours here and there. I'm fine."

"In the chair by Cassandra's bed no doubt," cut in Baird, walking in with a pile of books. "Jones is right, Stone: you look done in. Go get some proper rest. They'll call if there's any change with her, and we'll call if there's any change with this."

"I'm fine," Stone insisted. "I just need some coffee."

"No, you need sleep," Baird told him. "Go lie down for a few hours, that's an order."

"I ain'a soldier," Stone slurred, turning to head over to the card catalogue.

Baird reached out and stopped him with an unmoving hand on his shoulder. "Maybe you're not, but I am," she reminded him, "and I will knock you out if I have to. Running yourself into the ground helps nobody and if you're this off base when things kick off, it's gonna get you killed, at the very least."

Stone's shoulder's sagged. "Fine," he growled. "A few hours, that's all."

"We'll wake you if we need you," said Baird, in gentler tones.

Stone shook off her hand and walked away, turning down the corridor to the rooms the Library habitually provided for them. Baird looked round to Jones, who held up a book. It wasn't his clippings book. Her brow crinkled.

"I've got my own research to do," he said in reply to the unasked question in her eyes. "New case came in. I think the Library's just firing them all straight to my clippings book now."

"Need help with anything?" Baird asked, her voice betraying the mental and physical weariness they were all feeling by now.

"Nah, I'm good," replied the thief, shaking his head. "It's just a simple retrieval job. Seems the original statue of Minerva has been found, along with the one and only temple of Vesta, goddess of matches."

Eve blinked. She replayed the sentence in her head and raised an eyebrow. "Matches?"

"Yeah, you know: Swan Vesta matches. Yellow box. Swan on the front?" Ezekiel floundered. "Do you ever pay attention in any of the countries you visit?"

"Why would I pay attention to boxes of matches? I don't smoke."

Ezekiel shrugged. "Swan Vestas are strike-anywhere matches. Handy for lighting those creepy torches we keep finding in underground temples and tombs. Don't run out of gas like a lighter."

"Next time, try the joke on Flynn," Eve groaned. "He'll tell you what she's actually the goddess of, but at least he'll get it."

Jones watched as Baird picked up a pile of scrolls from the central desk and headed out again.

"He might even laugh," she called back as she disappeared round a corner.

Jones appealed to the ceiling. "I already know what she's _actually_ the goddess of! I was just trying to lighten the mood!"

A book hit him on the back of the head. He turned, rubbing the bruised area. The offending book lay open on the floor, a full page illustration of the statue of Minerva gazing serenely up at him.

"Yeah, yeah, I get it," he huffed, picking up the book and heading back to his workspace.

XXXX

"Are you sure it's not in there?" Jenkins demanded. "It's not exactly the most stable of artefacts. It can shrink, you know."

"Per amor del cielo, look for yourself if you don't believe me," grumbled Leonardo. "I have catalogued everything in these boxes. It is not there!"

"What's not there?" Flynn enquired, carrying a cornucopia that kept creating coconuts. He held it out to the other two men. "Can either of you switch this thing off? I seem to have triggered something. I don't think it liked where we were putting it."

"The artefact didn't like where we were putting it?" Jenkins repeated, looking dubiously at the Librarian.

"As soon as I put it on the plinth we'd picked out, it started firing coconuts at Poseidon's Trident," explained Flynn. "Knocked it right over first hit, then changed aim to where the trident landed."

"Ah," grimaced Jenkins, taking the cornucopia and dodging a coconut. "Well, it is an artefact associated with Demeter, and they never did get on well after that one incident." He turned the cornucopia sideways, causing da Vinci to have to dodge this time. "How about we set you up next to Midas then? I don't recall you having any particular beef with him."

The coconuts stopped firing. Jenkins handed the horn back to Flynn. He nodded his thanks, then put it down on the table and placed a hand on either side of it. "What's not there, Jenkins?"

Jenkins sighed. "Fenrir's Chain. It's capable of many things, including growing or shrinking to fit anything it is used to imprison. More importantly, it is a talisman, like Santa's hat. It can be used to imbue the wearer with the temperament of Fenrir, or Fenris, the wolf. Child of Loki and bringer of Ragnarok. With the right combination of spells, runes and magical artefacts, it can fully convert the wearer to an avatar of Fenrir."

"Still not calling him Santa," said Baird, joining them with her arms full of scrolls. "Can a chain really change someone into a wolf?"

"Many artefacts have the ability to transmogrify humans into animals, or animal like forms," nodded Jenkins, taking some of the scrolls from her and laying them out on the table. "Most mythological monsters have some link to just such an occurrence. Take werewolves, for instance, or wendigos."

"I think I've got enough to handle right now," replied Baird. "Why are we talking about turning someone into Fenrir? I thought it was Loki we needed to worry about?"

"Fenrir is one of the children of Loki, all three of whom play a great part in Ragnarok," Jenkins explained. "First there will be three years of bad winters, with no real summer time to separate them. Then the two wolves who had for ever pursued the sun and moon would catch up and consume them. The stars would go out. Darkness would reign. The earth would shake and the seas rise as the first of Loki's children, the Midgard serpent, would rise from the waters and invade the land. Then all bonds would be broken, including this chain, Gleipnir, that imprisoned Fenrir, and the bonds that held his father, Loki, in his prison. They would come forth, along with Loki's third child, the half-giantess, Hel, queen of the underworld, and the final battle of Ragnarok would begin. At the end of the battle, the world is destroyed and remade, and several of the high ranking Norse gods wind up dead."

"So where does the Serpent Brotherhood come into it?" Baird frowned.

"Well, we think they are working on the theory that, if Loki and his three children are brought into being in the modern world, our Midgard, the rest will follow and the world as we know it will be destroyed, paving the way for those of them who survive to remake the world as they wish, with as much magic as they like."

"And to do that they'll need this chain," da Vinci cut in, rubbing his arm where a stray coconut had caught him.

"And we can't find it," finished Jenkins.

"We're sure it's not just in another box?" Flynn asked.

"Every box has a manifest," replied Jenkins. "If you know where to look..."

"And how!" Leonardo added. It had been his discovery.

"And so far every manifest has been accurate," continued Jenkins. "This box listed the chain among its contents, but, try as we might, we cannot find it in there... Apparently."

"Everything else has been checked, documented and rechecked," cried da Vinci, with a wave of his hand. "It is not there, I say!"

"Okay, worst case scenario," interjected Baird, before Jenkins could find a suitable riposte. "Say they have the chain. What else do they need? Are there any other artefacts we need to be out looking for, or providing some kind of additional protection for that are already here?"

"Every avatar will require an earthly relic of its mythic self," explained Jenkins. "Loki's Spear, for example. Then there are the artefacts that can be used to bind the avatar and bring it to its full self. They have options there, so that's going to be a bit more difficult. I can make a list of the former easily, but the latter will take a bit more time."

Colonel Baird nodded, taking in the information. "Well," she said, looking up at the Caretaker in full military mode. "I'd say you'd best get on it."

Jenkins raised an eyebrow at the order. "Yes, ma'am!"

XXXX

"I should go," whispered the young man's voice through the cover of the breeze in the leaves above them. "I have work to do."

"Ye still havnae told me why yer here," giggled the girl quietly, like the laughter of the waterfall they sat beside.

"You know why," he replied with a charming smile. "To look in on Cassandra while Stone catches up on some shuteye."

"Then why haven't ye been to see her yet?" Seonaidh pointed out.

"Well," shrugged Ezekiel. "I got distracted, didn't I? Who wouldn't, when you're around."

"If my mother catches ye here," replied the maiden, "she'll no' be happy. She might even curse yeh."

"Faint heart never won fair lady," grinned Ezekiel. "Besides, Librarians have been cursed before and survived."

"True," she laughed, pursing her lips, "but a lot of them wished they hadnae!"

"Your mother doesn't scare me," he breezed. "All I'm doing is visiting a beautiful part of the world with fabulous scenery."

"Ye havnae looked at any of the scenery," she pouted. "Ye've only looked at me."

"That's because you are the most beautiful part," he laughed.

"I'm not sure I appreciate being called scenery?" Seonaidh frowned.

"When I'm around you, babe, you're my whole world," grinned Ezekiel.

"Oh," she laughed, "and how many girls ha' you tried that line on?"

"Only one," he replied, still grinning. "Is it working? Because, you know, it would be useful to know for next time."

"Hah!" Seonaidh cried. "If yer no' on your way soon, there'll no' be a next time!"

XXXX

In a room high in the fairy tower, on narrow bed, covered in a patchwork quilt, lay Cassandra. Her hair, spread out over the pillow, reflected the sun as if she were crowned with fire. In the shadows at the other end of the bed, where the sun's light couldn't drown it out, a faint blue glow coruscated over the ironwork of the bedstead. It sparked off the tip of the metalwork. It climbed up from the very stones below it. It seeped into the bedding, and the figure below it. 


	45. For The Sword, Chapter 2

"What time is it?" Stone's voice echoed ahead of him down the Library corridors. "Baird!"

"In here!" Colonel Baird called back. She and Flynn were at their desk, going over Jenkins' list of avatar talismans.

"You said you'd wake me up!" Stone barked, storming into the office and picking up his pack.

"If there was any change in Cassandra's condition, or if we needed you here," Baird reminded him. "There wasn't and we didn't. You needed the rest."

"Yeah, well how much rest? 'Cause I don't wear a watch, this place has no windows, and no clocks, and the alarm on my phone didn't wake me since now my phone seems to have died!" Stone ranted, throwing the offending article onto Baird and Flynn's desk. Flynn picked it up.

"Seems fine to me," he said, unlocking the phone and checking the alarms. "Maybe you slept through it?"

"I did not sleep through..." Stone noticed the open alarms screen that Flynn was showing him and another penny entirely dropped. "Hey! Is Jones still hacking my iPhone? Did he tell you my password? Did you switch my alarm off?"

"Er, probably, possibly and no, I did not. That one was not me," Flynn replied.

"And it wasn't me or Jones either," supplied Baird. "Jones is out on a case and we've both been with Jenkins and da Vinci between the last time I saw you and coming though here with this."

Stone opened his mouth to say something then stopped. The words 'it must have been someone' died on his lips. He looked around him and up. "Was this you?" Stone yelled at the ceiling. The books rustled uncomfortably. "Did you mess with my phone?"

"Stone, you're scaring the books, calm down," said Flynn gently, but firmly. "The Library only wants what's best for you. It would have woken you if there was any need."

"Need?" Stone turned on Flynn. "What about what I need? I need to be there. I don't care if nothing's changed, I still need to be there!"

"Hey!" Baird yelled. "We are all worried about Cassandra right now! But we have a bigger problem on our doorstep and we all have to put that first! Everyone needs to be ready for when this storm breaks. Everyone. Including you."

"I'm doing my share!" Stone countered.

"You're doing more than your share, and you know it!" Baird argued. "You want to take your research to Cassandra's bedside, that's fine. You want to spend your nights there instead of here, that's fine too. You want to only check in once a day, well, hey: even that I'm okay with. What I am not okay with is you running yourself into the ground trying to do your share of the work _and_ hers! I've seen the piles of books you take with you. There's no way you could get through the number you do unless you're working every hour of the day. Not unless you've suddenly developed a talent for speed reading. You need to slow down. You are burning yourself out."

"What I need is something to distract me from the fact that my girlfriend is lying there, unconscious, and there's not a damn thing I can do about it!" Stone retorted.

"I get that!" Baird replied. "But throwing yourself into the research like this is not helping! What if you're so tired, you miss something?"

Stone paused and sighed in frustration. "Fine, you win, I'll try and sleep more. Now if you don't mind, I have research to do."

He turned to go, but Flynn called him back. "Actually, it might be more useful if you focused on a few of these items," he said, handing the list to Stone. "We're going after Loki's Spear, since we know who is planning on using it, and we think we know when. Pick a couple of the others to look into. Maybe even go after them."

"Alone?" Stone raised an eyebrow at him.

"I could ask Jones to help you," offered Flynn.

Stone pulled a face. "I'll manage."

"Take your pick," sighed Baird, nodding at the list. "We think they already have Fenrir's Chain, and we're going after the spear, but the rest are all up for grabs."

"The Crown of Hel, Hyrm's Helm, Surt's Flaming Sword," Stone read down the list. "I'll make a start on these three. I get a lead on any of them, I'll go after it."

"Just be careful," Flynn reminded him. "These are talismans. Like that hat Jones 'borrowed' from Sa... Nick."

"Note to self," murmured Stone. "Do not try on the crown of the queen of hell. Yeah, I got it."

"And call us if you need help!" Baird called after him as he disappeared through the back door.

XXXX

"Must you do that here?" Leonardo grumbled. "Would your precious laboratory not be more comfortable?"

"I am perfectly comfortable where I am, thank you," replied Jenkins, scratching out another item off the list he had been working on for the past four hours.

"Where you can keep your beady eye on me, no doubt," muttered the maestro. "It is clear, still you do not trust me."

"My eyes are neither beady, nor on you," murmured Jenkins, cross-checking an item in a book by his side.

"Hmm," da Vinci glared suspiciously at the Caretaker. He straightened the gloves on his hands and went back to rummaging in the box before him.

"The cauldron of rebirth," muttered Jenkins, under his breath. "No. No, that only works if they're dead first. Although it is the Serpent Brotherhood we're talking about..."

"Do they intend to rule in silence?" Leonardo enquired, breaking in on Jenkins' thoughts.

"Huh?" Jenkins looked up, his brow creased in confusion.

"The Cauldron of Rebirth," the maestro pointed at the notepad in Jenkins' hands. "You were considering adding it to your little list there. You're right: it will work perfectly if they don't mind being dead first. Unfortunately they would also have to not mind being mute afterwards."

"Ah, yes, indeed," Jenkins looked down and crossed the item off his list.

"I could be of greater use adding to that list of yours than acting as your clerk," complained Leonardo. "We are wasting time filing away these items. They were quite happy in their boxes and now we know what is in each box."

"It needs doing and you are the best placed to do it," Jenkins replied, without looking up. "Rod of Asclepius..."

"Wonderful," scoffed da Vinci, "if they have been bitten by a snake!"

"That's the Staff of Moses," murmured Jenkins, still focussed on his notes and research. "The two are commonly confused but quite different in their ability. For a start, Moses only claimed to talk to God. Asclepius was the son of one."

"Ah, so it is for the apotheotic link that you are including it," da Vinci nodded. "Pray tell: which of Hercules many relics do you intend to include for him? The lion-skin Cloak? His Bow, perhaps?"

"I have the Bow, actually," replied Jenkins easily. "I also have the Well of Wishes, the Sword of Talos, the Book of Saraswati..."

"Inuit Raven Claw?" Leonardo queried. "Golden Elixir of Life? Shroud of Turin?"

"Those too," Jenkins nodded. "If you are planning on checking all of my work we will be here all day."

"Only attempting to provide aid and assistance," said da Vinci, holding up his hands in defeat. "I am sure you are perfectly capable. You'll have every possibility written down from Arthur's Armour to Michaelangelo's Miniatures."

"Don't be ridiculous," sighed Jenkins. "There was never anything apotheotic about Arthur or his armour."

Da Vinci folded his arms and waited.

Jenkins frowned at him, then the penny dropped. "Ah, the Miniatures! Yes, I didn't have them!"

XXXX

Jones opened the door and stepped through. He stumbled into the office with a clatter that made Flynn and Eve look up.

"You took your time," Baird commented. "Everything go okay?"

Jones hoisted the statue that was weighing him down. "All present and correct. No worries."

"Take her through to da Vinci and Jenkins," said Flynn. "They're still in the Library itself."

"In a bit," nodded the thief, setting the statue upright on the central desk. "Let's see if she helps with the caseload in here first. Goddess of Wisdom and all that."

"We do not profit from the artefacts, Jones," called Baird, watching him saunter back up the stairs.

"Oh no, never that," grinned the Librarian. "Utilise in the course of our work, though..."

Flynn and Eve watched the youngest Librarian disappear among the bookshelves.

"Tell me," mused Eve, turning her gaze to the statue. "Does Minerva, Greek Goddess of Wisdom, _like_ being used as a study-buddy?"

"Well, she is the Goddess of Wisdom," sighed Flynn, looking the statue up and down. "Who knows."

"There are days when you really hope he's right," groaned Eve. "There are days when you really hope he's wrong. And then there are days like this. Days when you really have no idea _which_ would be the lesser of two evils!"

The next ten minutes passed quietly enough, with Flynn and Eve only expecting violent reprisals from the Greek Goddess every few minutes. They had started out at every few seconds. Then the sound of hurrying feet, so seldom heard from Ezekiel, sounded on the upper level.

"What's the panic?" Flynn called as Jones sped past.

The thief skidded to a halt in the doorway and looked back round. "New case," he said, brandishing his clippings book. "Need to talk to Jenkins."

"Can I help?" Flynn asked, rising to his feet.

"Maybe," shrugged Jones. "How much do you know about the Singing Sword of Conaire Mor?"

XXXX

In the darkness of the Fairy Tower, the faint blue glow had now covered the bed and all its contents. It crackled soundlessly, pulsing and dancing in the cloud-strewn moonlight. The shimmering cloud of light grew bright, obliterating details, then vanished. On the bed, below the covers, the sleeping figure stirred. 


	46. For The Sword, Chapter 3

"It will not end well, child."

Flora's voice echoed, rebounding off the stone walls of the spiral staircase that led up the Fairy Tower of Dunvegan Castle. Behind her, golden tresses bound up into a long braid, Seonaidh followed, carrying a pile of freshly laundered towels.

"But, Cailleach, surely you, in yer wisdom, know how dangerous it is to put bars on a heart," replied the girl, following close behind the crone. "A heart that is free can grow and learn. If he is not for me, I will learn it and grow from it and move on."

"And if he _is_ for yeh?" Flora turned on the stairs and looked down at her descendent. "What will you do, child, if yeh allow yer heart to rule yer head in this? If aught should happen to me, your mother will inherit my title and all that goes with it. Should ill fate befall her, that mantle falls to you, maid. You know my years. Are you willing to bind yourself to that young blether, perhaps for a life as long as mine?"

"I would like the chance to find out," she replied, sticking her chin out defiantly.

"You are not hearing me, girl," said Flora sternly, matching the young woman stare for stare. "The maiden must marry and become the mother. Only then can she become the crone. The hag. The Cailleach. The life of a Cailleach is long. The life of a Librarian can be long too. Both are called to different worlds. He must roam and you must stay. If he is a good man, he will feel that geas always. He will never be able to settle here. Is that what you want? A hundred lifetimes of loneliness?"

"If the life of the Cailleach is so long, what chance is there that I should directly succeed my mother?" Seonaidh pointed out. "What need do I have of the knowledge yeh have drummed into me? The power I hold that only others can use."

"Do you think I have the Seer's Stone in my pocket?" Flora frowned. "You know our history, girl. You know we have no power over the future that any other might have. How are we to know how long, or short, our lives might be? Ragnarok is coming. The final battle. And in that battle we may have to fight to defend ourselves, our home, and our legacy. Who knows who may fall in that fight?"

"Then all the more reason we should be free to live as we choose until then!" Seonaidh retorted.

"Ach, ye have an answer for everything, like all the young," sighed Flora grimly. "But hear this child. If you pursue this boy, yeh walk a path that leads nowhere but heartache and destruction. Pain and loss will salt your bed with tears, and the grief will be the worse for knowing it was of your own doing. Heed me now, or heed me not, there is still work to be done that calls us. Now pick up your heels and follow me."

XXXX

"The Singing Sword of Conaire Mor," Jenkins looked down at the clipping that had popped up in Jones' book. "Well, it certainly looks like it. Legend says it can only be handled by a true hero. Once in a true hero's keeping, it will 'sing' if danger threatens and give him 'power to command the hearts of men'. I'm not sure how that works if you're trying to sneak up on someone but, well..." Jenkins shrugged expansively. "Apparently it will also 'sing' if raised aloft by the true king of Ireland, but I dare say there's little chance of that."

"How do you know it's that particular sword?" Da Vinci cut in from the other side of the table. "There are many ancient swords in the world, and more than one of them 'sings' if used right!"

"It matches the description," began Jenkins, handing the book over to the artist. "Not the one in everyday mythology books. The one we have. The History of the Isle of Ireland as told by Tuan mac Cairill, written down by Colum Cille as it was spoken to him. 'Through my many lifetimes I have become the guardian of human courage and dreams. I am legend incarnate. I am memory turned myth.'"

"Speak for yourself," da Vinci raised an eyebrow at the reverent way Jenkins intoned the quote. He turned to Jones and held out the book. "You, boy. Have you read this book he's babbling on about?"

"Not yet," Jones replied, his eyes flicking dubiously between the two elders. "That was my next port of call, if there was anything else left in there to read. I couldn't find much on Google."

"You googled the Singing Sword of Conaire Mor?" Jenkins turned exasperated eyes on Jones.

"Well, yeah," the thief shrugged. "The internet knows everything. It's always my first port of call."

"Not in this case," Jenkins told him with a look of mild despair. "Don't worry about the book: you know the main details now. Just remember to wear your gloves when handling the sword, and if it sticks itself in a stone, call me!"

XXXX

"Do you have it?" The woman asked.

The black-clad man held up a vial that threw grotesque shadows around the room. Light burned within it and smoke seemed to writhe within its dark red contents. The man's gloved hand was trembling. He knelt and bowed his head, vial still held aloft. "It is yours my queen."

"Indeed," the queen sighed. She put out a slender gloved hand and lifted the vial from the man's hand, placing it in a short, stone cylinder. "You have done well. What is your name?"

"Simmonds, my queen," replied the man, without looking up. He was tall, lean and muscular, almost certainly ex-armed forces of some kind. He had the graceful ease of movement of a trained killer.

"You have done well, Simmonds," the queen repeated. "Remind me why you joined our humble family?"

"This world is broken, my queen," Simmonds replied. "It needs something greater than ourselves to fix it."

"And magic is that something?"

"Yes, my queen," he bowed deeper.

"Then you shall be a part of that which destroys this broken world and builds it up anew," she decreed. "As you have shown you can be trusted in small things, I shall trust you in greater ones. You shall be my serpent brother. You shall take on the avatar of Jormungand, the Midgard Serpent."

"I shall not fail, my queen," Simmonds bowed even further.

"You shall require more items of power for your transformation," said the queen. "Wilkins, the list for the Serpent."

"Yes, my queen," bowed Wilkins, standing by his liege's side. He fumbled for a notepad then, producing one, flipped through to the right page. "The talisman you will need is the fish hook the god Thor used to try to capture you. You will also need the skin of a selkie. All else we have. You must be ready by the first quarter point of the year."

"Yes, sir," Simmonds bowed briefly to Wilkins, then turned to the queen once more. "I seek leave to depart immediately, my queen."

"Granted," nodded the queen. "But first you must follow the Professor to his library. He will have valuable information to aid you on your quest."

Simmonds bowed deeper. "By your command, my queen."

XXXX

"Are you sure this is right?" Eve Baird asked, following her intended though the picturesque, leafless vista of the New Forest, hand in hand. "I can't see many spears just lying around in a forest for centuries and not getting found."

"Ah, but that's the beauty of it," replied her fiancé. "You can't see it. I remember Judson once telling me if you really want to hide something, hide it in plain sight."

"In a forest?" Eve looked at him. "Wouldn't 'in plain sight' for a spear be in an armoury?"

"Depends on the spear, my love," Flynn raised Eve's hand to his lips and kissed it.

"You're not making any sense again," mused Eve. "What are you not telling me?"

"Oh, so very many things," teased Flynn. "The language of the birds, the secrets of the masons..."

"About the spear," Eve replied, shouldering him sideways.

"Ah, the spear, yes," Flynn tugged at his chin with his free hand. "You're the weapons expert, Eve. Define a spear."

"Long shaft," she sighed. "Sharp, pointy end, usually made of steel."

"Usually," Flynn swung round in front of her triumphantly. "Usually is not the same as always. Before steel, we used iron; before iron, bronze; before bronze, flint. Always the result is the same: sharp, pointy end. So why not simply a sharp, pointy stick? In Norse mythology, Loki's Spear is the sharpened shaft of mistletoe he put into the hand of Hod, blind brother of Balder. Because of a dream that Balder had had, Odin and Frigg, his parents, ordered everything to swear an oath that they would not harm him. The mistletoe alone did not swear, so, when the rest of the gods were having fun throwing things at Balder to test out his new found invincibility, Loki made a long dart from the mistletoe, like a javelin, and put it in Hod's hand, pretending to give him a normal dart, and aiming his hand for him."

"Not a guy to be trusted, clearly," quipped Eve. "Still doesn't explain why we're here. I have never seen a piece of mistletoe that was large enough to be used as a spear. It would certainly stand out."

Flynn stopped in front of a broad oak tree. "That's because you're forgetting something.

"And what's that?" Eve drew her hand back and folded her arms, watching him expectantly.

"Magic!" Flynn replied with a grin. He reached up to one of the stout lower branches of the oak. A vine like branch wound round it, camouflaged against the bark by moss and lichen.

Nothing happened.

Flynn looked up in confusion. He brushed away some of the plant growth and tried again. Nothing. He frowned. "That's not good."

XXXX

Jacob Stone heard the footsteps on the stairs and sat up, rubbing his eyes. He had tried sleep, but, like the fickle mistress it was, it had eluded him. Behind him, the door opened and Flora and Seonaidh walked in. He understood what Jones saw in the girl: she was pretty. Apparently she also had a Doctor Who addiction, and enjoyed reading comics and crime stories. He had to admit: so far, she sounded perfect for Jones. He watched her disappear into the en suite and replace the towels. Flora moved to the bed and looked down at her patient. As he watched the old woman, he saw her face change. She went from a look of concern and worry, to a look of puzzlement and confusion, to one of surprise and relief.

Stone got up and walked over. "What is it?"

"Be seated, young man," ordered the Cailleach. "Our sleeper is nearing wakefulness. I must examine her and make sure there is not lasting damage."

Obediently, Stone moved back to his chair. As he watched, the Cailleach reached out to the dormant figure on the bed, holding one hand over Cassandra's forehead and running the other down to her toes and back again, all without dropping her hands any closer than an inch from the sleeper. She turned to Stone, smiled and nodded.

"She sleeps a normal sleep now," said Flora, gesturing in the direction of the bed. "You can wake her if you wish."

The old woman stepped aside to let Stone take his place by Cassandra's side, moving to the other side of the room as Seonaidh returned from the bathroom, old towels in hand. She nodded at Stone, leaning down to kiss Cassandra. "That is what true love looks like, child," she murmured, too low for Stone to hear. "Yet even they would suffer intolerable heartache were she to be locked away here indefinitely."

"But they would still rather suffer it," the girl replied, "than miss out on that love entirely."

"Name one couple you know that have said that," sighed Flora. "One real couple, girl."

Over at the bed, Cassandra stirred.

"Hey there, princess," said Jacob softly. "Time to wake up now."

"What?" Cassandra groaned, reaching up and rubbing her eyes. "What time is it?"

"A little after two in the morning, local time," breathed Jacob, a relieved smile breaking across his face like the dawn after the longest night.

"Where's local?" Cassandra asked, sitting up. She blinked and focussed on Flora and Seonaidh. "Oh."

"You passed out in the warehouse, do you remember?" Jacob scrutinised his girlfriend's face as she shook her head. "You've been out nearly two weeks. We brought you here because Jenkins thought Flora might know better what to do."

"Two weeks?" Cassandra's eyebrows shot up her forehead. "I must have missed so much! Did we catch the bad guys yet?"

"Not yet, darlin'," Jacob replied, shaking his head with a laugh. "We're workin' on it though. Jones is taking care of the day to day stuff. Jenkins and da Vinci are squabbling over the stuff we brought back in the boxes. Flynn and Eve are going after a few relics we've narrowed down and I've got a few cases to look into myself."

"On your own?" Cassandra frowned.

"I am qualified, darlin'," he reminded her. "We both are."

"Then you can give me some of those books over there and tell me what we're working on," she replied.

"Well," sighed Jacob. "I'm not sure you should be exerting yourself so soon, but... Currently I'm looking for information on the Flaming Sword of Surt, the fire giant. You could take a look at that one if you want. Not just now though," he cast a glance round at the two women, but they had already left. "I know you've just woken up, but what do you say we sleep now and look at them together in the morning?"

Cassandra smiled and traced the lines of weariness on his face. "I can live with that."


	47. For The Sword, Chapter 4

Breakfast was always a favourite meal of Cassandra's. It had been the one and only meal that she could guarantee having both parents present at, at least for most of her childhood. Breakfast in a Scottish castle was a new experience, though. There was traditional porridge, for starters. None of that 'just add milk and microwave' nonsense here: this was made with pinhead oatmeal and had been soaking in salted water all night. There was bacon and eggs with mushrooms, sausages and black pudding too, with a pile of potato scones to mop up the juices and sauces. There was orange juice and coffee, and a rack of toast with pats of butter and pots of jam and marmalade if anyone still had room. Cassandra nearly finished the rack.

"Well, there's nothing wrong with your appetite, anyway," smiled Flora, seating herself at the table in the castle's dining room. "How are you feeling otherwise?"

"I feel fine," Cassandra replied, washing down the last of the toast with some orange juice. "I just wish I knew what happened. It hasn't done that before."

"To my knowledge, 'before' in your case is a fairly limited level of experience," mused the old woman. "You have only used this new ability once, am I right?"

"Twice," Cassandra corrected her.

Stone looked up from plate in surprise. "When?"

"Oh, just when you boys were off rescuing Leo," she shrugged, tidying her used crockery to avoid meeting his eyes. "Nothing major."

"And this was the first time you used magic in this way?" Flora asked. Cassandra nodded. "Tell me what happened. In detail."

"Um..." Cassandra looked from Flora to Stone.

"What happened, Cassie?" Stone frowned, folding his arms and sitting back.

"I swear it's nothing bad," she replied, holding up a hand, "but it involves things I can't tell you until later."

"What kind of things?" Stone's eyes narrowed. "How much later?"

"Maid of Honour and Bride things," she shrugged, biting her lip. "And after the wedding?"

He rolled his eyes and got up, lifting his coffee cup and pushing his chair in. "Fine. You keep your girly secrets. I'll be in the study."

When the door had closed behind him, Cassandra turned back to Flora and began her story. "We were in New York, looking for a bridal gown for Eve. She's so fussy. Then we found our way to this tiny little shop down a side street in Tribeca..."

XXXX

"One Singing Sword of Conaire Mor," cried Jones, parading triumphantly through the back door. It was difficult for one person to be a parade, but he managed it.

"Put it in the umbrella rack just now," said Flynn, without looking round. "We need you here."

"Give it to Leo," Jenkins countered immediately, waving a hand at the maestro glaring at him from the other side of the desk. "We don't want anyone picking it up by mistake."

Jones walked past the umbrella stand and presented the sword to da Vinci, who took it in a gloved hand and hurried off in the direction of the Library. Continuing to the central desk, the thief joined Flynn, Jenkins and Baird in their council of war. The glowing globe of ley lines hovered over their heads.

"What did I miss?" Ezekiel asked. "Bad guys being bad?"

"They have Loki's Spear," said Jenkins. "Three foot long javelin made of mistletoe. Just as Loki used it in the myths to manipulate Hod into killing Balder, so the wielder can use it to manipulate others into doing whatever he likes. I would say he or she, but since we know the person intending to use the spear is our ever so trustworthy Professor Wilkins, it hardly seems apt."

"So he's got the spear," Jones nodded. "All is not lost, though. Right? He still needs other stuff. Stuff for the binding ritual?"

"We think he may have those too," said Baird, pointing at a faint blue line. "We got news that a dragon was killed in Croatia..."

"So now we know where Ascalon is," interjected Flynn.

"Or Gram," Jenkins reminded him.

"And we put the globe on to see if there were any other drains on the ley lines," Baird continued without missing a beat.

"So this thing can sense a disturbance in the force?" Jones quipped, pointing upwards.

"Only very large ones," Flynn explained, oblivious. "I'm sure a computer, or Cassandra, could pick up smaller changes, but we can only see the larger ones. This one was only just large enough to spot."

"The dragon?" Jones' brows knitted in confusion. "I thought you said it was in Croatia?"

"Oh, the dragon showed up like a white cat in a coal scuttle," replied Jenkins. "No, it was the artefact linked to this line here," he indicated the spot with a lecturer's pointer, "that we're seeing the smaller decrease in."

"Are we waiting on a drum roll?" Jones enquired.

"It's the Well of Wishes," sighed Baird, as Jenkins and Flynn frowned at each other over Ezekiel's head. "We think someone has stolen some water from it. It'll replenish the water in time, but it's what someone can do with what's been taken that's worrying us."

"And I'm guessing becoming an avatar of an evil fire slash trickster god slash giant is among the realms of possibility here," sighed Jones. "What does the dragon have to do with it?"

"Dragon's blood has long been linked with immortality, amongst other things," replied Jenkins. "Reginn the smith instructed Sigurd, the Norse hero, to dig a pit and hide in it to kill the dragon Fafnir, with the aforementioned sword, Gram. Sigurd would have drowned in the blood had Odin, in the guise of an old man, not warned him to dig drainage channels also. Odin also told him not to avoid the blood, though, as it would make his skin impervious to any weapon."

"I thought Beowulf's dragon had corrosive blood?" Jones frowned. "That didn't seem to grant anyone immortality."

"Well, yes," Jenkins nodded. "Different dragons, different legends, different properties. In Slavic mythology, dragons have different personalities, and different elemental forces, depending on their gender. They also have multiple heads, which keep growing back, and their blood will not be absorbed by the earth, apparently. Sounds more like some relation of the Hydra, if you ask me, though."

"So a liquid that grants immortality, plus a liquid that grants wishes, plus the talisman of a god," Jones summed up. "Anything else they need?"

"The right place and the right time," answered Flynn. "The time will be midnight on December thirty first, as we move from one year to the next. The place we're not too sure of, yet."

"You do realise that December thirty first is the day after tomorrow, right?" Jones winced. "In fact, for Stone and Cassandra's time zone, it already _is_ tomorrow!"

"Which is why," began the Colonel, "we need all hands on deck. I suggest Jenkins inform Stone and Flora about our new situation and get them working on it there. Maybe we could even get him and Cassandra working on it here, now she's woken up."

"She's awake?" Ezekiel looked up, his smile faltering. "Why didn't you call me?"

"No, you cannot go and see her," said Jenkins automatically. "She will be home soon enough and we all know she wouldn't be the only person you were going to see."

XXXX

"Well?" Jacob looked up from the scroll he was reading. The large, ornately carved desk in the study had been covered in the scrolls and books from his much smaller one in Cassandra's room. "What'd your fairy godmother have to say about your secret escapades with The Bride."

"She's not Uma Thurman, you know," Cassie laughed, plucking the scroll out of his hands and seating herself on his lap.

"Yeah, Baird's much scarier!" Jacob grinned, wrapping his arms around her. "I'd like to see Uma Thurman take on a real live minotaur. There ain't a shortage of chairs you know."

Cassie looked down at his arms and smiled. "Well, I can't get up now, can I? Besides, I haven't seen you in two whole weeks. I've missed you."

"You were unconscious," laughed Jacob.

"It still counts," she half-shrugged, still smiling.

"So you gonna tell me the prognosis?" Jacob asked, sobering slightly. "Or is that top secret too?"

"We don't really know," she replied, her smile faltering. "About the prognosis, I mean, not the top secret. Flora says its like Jenkins explained it: every time we are affected by magic, some of it lingers. Eventually, it'll build up to a level we can use, just like Flora and Flynn and Jenkins. Judson too, I guess. The difference with me is that the magic is interfering with my synaesthesia, kind of like the tumour did, but in a less definitively terminal way..."

He winced. "Now when you say definitively..."

"Nobody's ever mixed magic and synaesthesia before, sweetie, not that either of us know of," she said softly, kissing his forehead. "It's uncharted territory. Flora thinks I'll be okay once I've learned how to control it properly."

He became aware that his arms had tightened around her involuntarily and loosened his hold. "So that's why you passed out? You lost control?"

"In a way," she nodded. "I was drawing so much magical energy from the boxes around me I didn't notice when my own reserves dried up. I was out until they recharged. It was like I was using a sledgehammer to crack a walnut."

"Wait, what do you mean 'recharged'?" Jacob held up a hand. "Recharged from what?"

"From here, of course," Cassie laughed. "It's called the Fairy Tower for a reason, genius!"

"And there was me thinkin' it was 'cause of all them princesses in fairy tales," he grinned. On the desk beside them, his phone buzzed. He picked it up. "Jenkins! You want to talk to sleeping beauty here?" Stone's face fell. "Fire up the door. I'll be ready in five."

"What?" Cassandra asked, getting up as he released his hold on her. "What's wrong?"

"Got a lead on those bad guys you were worried about," he replied, piling up the books, notebooks and scrolls and kissing her cheek. "Team needs me there right away, all hands on deck."

"All hands on deck means both of us," she retorted, blocking his route. "I'm coming too."

"Darlin' maybe you should stay here until we know more about..."

"Don't patronise me, Jacob, that does not end well for you," she cut in. "Ever."

"We can't risk you knocking yourself out again at," he paused, seeing the fixed glare on her face. "Maybe we can."

Jacob turned to watch his girlfriend stride out of the room, her head held defiantly high. "Dammit, that woman's scarier than Baird _and_ The Bride put together!"

XXXX

"How go the preparations?" The queen asked, walking through the minuscule village.

"Well, my queen," Wilkins replied. "I still think it would have been safer to remove the inhabitants permanently, however."

"Nonsense," she replied. "Less than two dozen houses, and half of them empty at this time of year anyway? Far easier to allow the rest to 'win a holiday' somewhere warm for New Year. The only ones who didn't go were the farmers, and there's only two of them at opposite ends of the place. If they pose a problem tomorrow night, they are easily subdued."

"You are right, of course," he nodded a small bow.

"Of course I am," she smirked. "And what of the Librarian and his little band of followers?"

"Nothing, my queen," answered Wilkins, shaking his head. "Not since their escape from our vault."

"Their escape," she huffed out a derisive laugh. "Your bungling. Now those were three meddlers that you _could_ have removed permanently. I suggest you do so, should fate grant you a second opportunity!"

"I thought, if a blood sacrifice were required..."

"You did not think, and there we have the problem, Wilkins," she spat. "We are surrounded by blood sacrifices, all willing. Why risk everything on getting even with your little thief and his friends?"

"Everything is ready, my queen," he reiterated, attempting to sound jovial. "They can't stop us now."

"Don't be so foolish, man, of course they can!" The queen snapped, stopping and turning to face him. "I have watched this Librarian for the best part of a decade. Greater men than you have underestimated him and lived to regret it. My predecessor alone fell foul of his merry band and their antics far more often than he would have liked us to believe, and we all know how well that ended for him."

"Yes, my queen," Wilkins quailed, bowing deeper this time. "I shall redouble the watchers."

She nodded sagely, condescending to smile. "See that you do."


	48. For The Sword, Chapter 5

Ezekiel Jones, World Class Thief, smiled brightly as Cassandra stepped through the back door. It wasn't a false smile entirely: he truly was happy to see Cassandra well and back with them. There was a watchfulness, though, that tinged the edges of his eyes. He noted Jenkins pocketing the marker they had used to link the door to the castle and murmur something to Colonel Baird at her desk. Baird nodded, but he caught the flicker of her eyes in his direction. No matter. Ezekiel had set a marker of his own in the castle grounds long ago in case of just such an occurrence.

"Don't worry," Cassandra giggled, mistaking his reticence for fear. "I'm not going to turn you into a frog or anything. At least not today."

"Just so you know," he rallied, "I'm allergic to big blue bubbles of magic too."

"Hey, it was only a little bubble!" Cassandra nudged him with her elbow. "Besides: you were going to punch Jacob and we can't have that."

"Thank you," grinned Stone.

"You might have hurt your hand, after all," she added, throwing a sly smirk at her boyfriend.

"Hey," he complained.

"Mate, you get yourself punched by people for fun," Jones reminded him. "I highly doubt that my first ever attempt at punching you would measure up to one of your Christmas bar brawls."

"Yeah, ain't that the truth," growled Stone, walking over to the central desk.

"If we are quite finished, children," interrupted Jenkins peremptorily. "You will see that on the desk before you there is a map of the planet. In it there are a number of coloured flags on pins. Pick a colour, that is the continent, or continents, you will be working on. We are looking for anywhere suitable for a binding ritual to take place, but preferably the site will have some sort of link to the original myth."

"Bags I take Europe!" Ezekiel called out.

"And there was I, thinking you would choose Australia," quipped Jenkins. "Why would you choose Europe? Hmm, I wonder?"

"Europe has the highest incidence of rune stones, like the one we found at Threave, and they are undeniably linked to the Norse myths and Ragnarok," Jones argued, pointing at the stone still resting on one end of the central desk. "Besides, it was in Europe that we, well I, first met Wilkins."

"Hmm," Jenkins sounded dubious. He couldn't disagree with any of the young man's logic, but he seriously doubted his motives were that pure. "Well due to the latter part of that little speech, we decided that Flynn would be looking into Europe, and all its rune stones, with Leonardo's help. Him being the Senior Librarian and all, and Leo having some personal acquaintance with the area. Eve is taking North America, as it has the mythology she is most familiar with herself. I haven't chosen yet, but am quite happy to take any of the other four."

"Ladies first," Jacob looked at Cassandra. "South America, Africa, Asia or Australia?"

"I'll take South America," she smiled. "I always was fascinated by Mayans and Aztecs and the rest."

"I'll take Africa," grinned Jacob.

"Complementary shapes," smiled Cassie, meeting his eyes. "The theory of plate tectonics was worked out because of how well they fit together. In fact they go together perfectly."

"Yes, they do," he grinned back at her.

"Sick bag, anyone?" Jones commented loudly.

"You can talk!" Stone and Jenkins chorused.

"Australia or Asia, Mr Jones?" Jenkins asked, folding his arms and leaning back against the desk. "Make a decision."

"Fine, Australia," Jones shrugged. "At least it's the smallest."

"In a way," agreed Jenkins, handing him a book to begin with. "But because of that, you also get Antarctica and the islands of the Indian and Pacific oceans. Excepting Hawaii, which is part of Colonel Baird's lot, and any of the coastal islands to be lumped with their coastal continent."

"Oh great!" Jones sighed. "And where exactly are you drawing the line between Australia and Asia?"

"Between Sumatra and Malaysia then all the way round the top of Indonesia and Brunei to the Babuyan channel between the Philippines and Taiwan," answered Jenkins promptly. "Happy researching."

"Oh, is that all," muttered Jones, taking the book and heading off upstairs. "No problem. No problem, at all."

The room grew quiet with his departure. At first, the silence was broken by the occasional murmurs of Stone and Cassandra, settling back into their usual research routine at their shared desk. Jenkins had retreated to his own desk, the Colonel to the one she shared with Flynn, and Flynn himself, along with da Vinci, were nowhere to be seen. Slowly, the silence took over as each fell into deeper concentration on their tasks.

XXXX

"Tell me you have something," Flynn sighed, leaning back in the armchair in da Vinci's work room. "If I have to read another argument about the accuracy of the translations of the poetic edda, I might just explode."

"You should be careful," warned Leonardo, wagging a finger at him. "I've come across magical items that would take that statement all too literally."

"Really?" Flynn raised an eyebrow and sat up. "I ought not to be surprised by things like that by now."

"Maybe," sighed da Vinci. "Or maybe you should pray you never see the day when this world stops surprising you. A world without surprises is very dull indeed, take my word for it!"

"There are just so many lists and scrolls and books on so many hundreds, thousands even, of stones," he dropped his head into his hands. "How are we meant to get through them all in one day?"

"Perhaps we should take a leaf out of the boy's book," suggested da Vinci. "I have avoided computers from the days of Countess Lovelace onward, but perhaps this re-emergence into the world demands that I become more familiar with them. Most especially with the feature known as Google."

XXXX

In the studious silence of the office, Cassandra's stomach rumbled. They had worked through the night, or what remained of it in Portland, and most of the day without stopping to eat. Even Jones hadn't sent out for his customary pizza, which Jenkins would never let him eat near the books anyway. She smiled an awkward apology at the other three on the lower level.

"Maybe you should take a break," said Baird. "We all should."

"I'm fine, really," Cassandra replied, shaking her head. "I've at least had some sleep. You must be exhausted."

"I'm trained for it, you're not," she replied. "None of you are. Go, tell Jones to order some take out and we'll all get some rest while we wait on it."

"Take out will have to wait, my love," called Flynn, striding through the doors. "I believe I know where they are headed."

"You found something?" Jenkins hurried over to the central desk where Flynn was looking down at the map, pin in one hand and piece of paper in the other. He looked at the piece of paper. "Is that a computer print out?"

"It is, Jenkins, and a very useful piece of paper it is too," replied Flynn. "It is a printout of the details surrounding and location of the Ledberg Stone."

Jenkins snatched up the piece of paper as Flynn placed the pin in the map. "This is a Wikipedia entry," he cried. "Did you even check this?"

"Of course we did," replied da Vinci. "Checked and cross checked. Why do you think a simple search took us so long."

"Simple..." Jenkins jaw dropped. His eyes narrowed and he fixed them on Leonardo. "Is this your doing? Did you talk him into googling for artefacts?"

"Time was of the essence and I saw no harm in adding another string to our bow," shrugged the maestro, pompous and unrepentant.

"Did I hear that right?" Jones called down from the mezzanine above. "Flynn found the 'right place' by googling?"

"Not another word on the matter," warned Jenkins shaking his finger at the young man as he made his way down the stairs. "Not one."

"Where's the Ledberg Stone," asked Cassandra, joining the growing group at the central desk.

"Here," Flynn pointed at the pin on the map. "Little, tiny village called Ledberg in Sweden. The stone there is carved with runes and pictures that tell the story of Ragnarok. Jenkins!"

"Firing up the door, sir," sighed the Caretaker.

XXXX

"Really this ought to have been finished long ago," muttered the queen. She was standing on podium, her arms outstretched, while the hem of her hooded ceremonial robe was being pinned up and sewn into place. "Everything last minute! The morning of the ceremony really isn't good enough!"

"Yes, my queen," mumbled the kneeling servant. "It shall be finished soon."

In the village outside, in the crisp morning air of winter, a door opened. It was the door of the village church, and four Librarians, one Guardian and one Caretaker stumbled out.

"It's morning already!" Flynn exclaimed. "The stone should be in a field to the north of the church. Now we don't know if they're here already or not, so let's go quietly."

"Let's split up," decided Eve. She pointed at Cassandra and Stone. "You two go find the stone and make sure it is where it ought to be. Stay with it, but if you hear or see trouble coming hide and call for backup. Cassandra do not try to take them on. Do you hear me? We don't know enough about what you can do yet to try that."

"Hide and call for backup, I got it," she nodded.

"Jones, Jenkins, you two take the buildings to the far side of the road, Flynn and I will take the buildings on this side. Same deal: you spot anything, you hide and call for back up."

"Yeah, yeah," Jones waved her concerns away. "We'll be fine."

Stone and Cassandra headed off around the northern end of the church, walking hand in hand like any other couple out for a stroll. Small, neat rows of headstones marked graves in front of the church, and carried on behind it. A path wound off to the side through a thicket of trees and a hedge. They followed it through to a farm field, empty of whatever usually inhabited it. In it they found the stone, its incised runes and figures picked out in red paint. There was no sign of movement.

"What do you say we take a few snaps and retire to those trees over there," suggested Stone.

XXXX

On the far side of the road, Jenkins and Jones moved stealthily through the sparse population of houses. Each one was dark and still.

"It's like they're all empty," said Jones.

"Maybe they're just not awake yet," suggested Jenkins.

"Nah, somebody's always awake by this time of the day. One house might be quiet, but all of them? It's like a ghost town. You don't think?"

"Unnecessary complications are not the Serpent Brotherhood's style, and a whole village of bodies, even a village this size, would definitely be an unnecessary complication."

XXXX

"I don't like this," murmured Baird, watchful eyes darting about her as they walked through the village. "It's too quiet."

"Probably sent holiday prizes to the villagers not already leaving for the New Year celebrations," whispered Flynn. "That's what I'd do. Gets pretty much everyone out of the way without causing a fuss."

"But if they're planning on killing them all anyway..."

"But they're not," Flynn interrupted. "Not yet, anyway. Raising Loki is just one transformation in a sequence, the rest being spaced out over the course of however long they want Ragnarok to run. They'll want to come back here for the next avatar too."

"Even if they know we know where it is?" Baird frowned.

"Maybe because of it," shrugged Flynn. "Double bluff. Either way, they don't _have_ to come back here, it's just the most likely of a list of possibles."

"So they might not be here at all?" Baird hissed.

"Oh they're here," whispered Flynn.

"How can you be sure?" Baird countered.

"Because I recognise Wilkins' car," he grinned, pointing at the vehicle in question. "It was at the dig in Gamla Uppsala."

Baird grabbed her phone and dialled. "Jones? Anything? Then get over here. We think we've found them. We'll meet you by the bus stop."

They hurried back to the road and didn't have long to wait before the familiar forms of Jones and Jenkins appeared from a side street. The two men jogged across the road to join them and together they retraced the path back to the house where Flynn and Eve had seen the car.

"Well, Thief?" Baird looked at Jones. "What do your spidey senses tell you?"

"From here, all they tell me is there's an alarm on the building, no visible cameras and that's not the owner's car," he replied.

"Okay, I see how you get the other two," Baird began, "but..."

"There's a clear imprint on the part of the drive the owner usually parks their car on," explained Jones, pointing to four worn dips in the hard packed soil. "Plus, I was at the dig too, remember."

"Of course," she sighed. "So where do we need to go from here?"

"Not we, me," he whispered. "This is my speciality now. I'll be more effective alone. A building that size, it should take five minutes max to case the exterior. If I'm not back by then, you can storm the front, all guns blazing."

"How about we just sneak round the back and kick the door in, one gun aiming?" Baird offered. "Okay, go, but I want you back before those five minutes are up."

"Scouts honour," saluted Jones, disappearing silently into the shrubbery.

"He was never in the scouts," chorused Flynn and Eve together.

"Actually, it wouldn't surprise me if he was," mused Jenkins. "You learn a lot of useful skills and it would provide an opportunity..."

"To steal new things," finished the three together.

Three and a half minutes later, Jones appeared behind the group. "Miss me?"

"Report," ordered Baird, not amused and more than a little put out that she hadn't heard him.

"Two guys on the door out the back," the thief began. "At least two more inside near the back of the building and another two behind the front door, and Wilkins talking to some dude in a robe."

"What did he look like?" Flynn asked.

"Don't know, he had his hood up," whispered Jones. "All I saw was this big shapeless robe. Even his hands had disappeared up the sleeves. Taller than Wilkins though. Maybe Jenkins' height?"

"So, tall then," murmured the man himself.

"Were they at the back or the front?" Baird asked.

"Back," said Jones. "I think the side window is our best bet. It looks like a bathroom window, and fairly ancient. I can open it no problem."

"Okay, show me," she nodded. "Flynn, Jenkins, be ready by the front door, but keep out of sight. We'll get in, take out those two guards quietly and let you two in there, then we take down Wilkins and grab the spear."

Jenkins and Flynn nodded their agreement and watched as Baird and Jones disappeared into the shrubbery again.

The side window was indeed a bathroom window, and was easy enough for Jones, after a few seconds work, to open. He swung himself in silently then turned to help Baird climb through. There were no guards in the hall outside and they edged their way up to the front door lobby. As they passed an old fashioned coat stand, Jones paused and let Baird take the lead, automatically checking the pockets of the jackets hanging up and the other contents of the stand. He heard one guard go down with only the slightest thud. The second guard was putting up a fight though. Jones grabbed one of the items in the lower part of the coat stand. He sidled into the lobby while the guard's back was toward him and pressed the point of the object into it. Instantly the guard froze.

"Jones?" Baird whispered, her eyes never leaving her target.

"Quietly and without argument, I want you walk forward and open the door," said Jones, keeping his voice low and even. "You will then let the two gentlemen on the other side of the door into the house, then you will walk out of the house and keep walking until you reach the next town. Then you can hand yourself in to the police."

Baird stepped aside, her eyes still on the guard for any sign of foul play. Sure enough, he opened the door, let Jenkins and Flynn pass, then walked out and shut the door behind him.

"Jones what makes you think he's not just going to circle round and warn the guys at the back?" Baird enquired, still staring, incredulous, at the door.

"I think this is one of the times you're going to have to let him get away with playing with the artefacts, dear," replied Flynn. "Our thief has found the spear."

Baird looked round to see Jones holding the shaft of mistletoe.

He shrugged. "It was hiding in plain sight. In the umbrella rack of that old coat stand. Plus," he grinned, dangling a bunch of metallic objects in the air, "if they run, our bad guys won't get far without their car keys."

The sound of an engine contradicted his statement. Baird dragged open the door in time to see the car, complete with hooded figure in the rear between two guards. She fired a few rounds at their tyres, but missed, then the car was round the corner and away.

"Unless of course they're not his car keys," Jones sighed.

"Or one of them can hot-wire a car," added Baird. "It's more than likely, I dare say."

"We got what we came for," Flynn reminded her. "The spear is safe. Call Cassandra and Stone and let's go home."

They piled though the back door with the adrenaline finally starting to wear off. Da Vinci was sitting on the stairs eating pizza. He offered the box to them but they shook their heads.

"I'm too tired to eat," groaned Jones. "Somebody tell me where to put this thing so I can go to bed."

"Not because you are holding a magic spear that allows you to manipulate people," began Jenkins, "but because you did good getting it, I will take that and find a suitable, safe home for it. Colonel Baird, Mr Stone, if you would follow with our friend on the desk, I believe we can put it to bed now too. All in all, a job well done, people."

Flynn watched the three, followed by Da Vinci who headed to his own rooms once out in the corridor, leave the office. He turned to Cassandra.

"How do you feel?" The Senior Librarian asked, leaning back against his desk. "Honestly."

"Honestly," said Cassandra, "I'm not sure. Physically I feel fine, well as fine as I would normally feel after a day like today, but mentally, I'm scared, and a little excited."

"Fear and excitement," he smiled gently. "A popular pair. It will get easier to control. With your gifts, it'll probably take you far less time than it took me. Just be careful with it. Maybe, when Stone is off learning how to fight properly from my fiancée, you and I should take some time to learn how to use magic properly? Just let's keep it away from the artefacts for now. Don't want to risk supercharging you again."

"I think I'd like that," she smiled.


	49. For The Perfect Day, Chapter 1

The new year had dawned peacefully for the Librarians, all asleep in the rooms the Library had provided for them. Even Jenkins and da Vinci made it through breakfast without arguing. The clippings book was quiet. No new earthquakes or tsunamis were reported on the news. The world was turning just as always. When they checked in at Gamla Uppsala, they found the dig had been finished off and closed up long before. Wilkins had disappeared entirely. The university said he had taken a sabbatical. Even Jones could find no trace of him. The days passed without incident. The cases that came up were minor, easily handled. Days turned into weeks. Weeks turned into months. In the quiet of those intervening months, they retrieved the rest of the crates from the warehouse. They even emptied the vault. Jones had been so impressed with it, he began designing one like it - but better, of course - for the Library. 

April arrived and still no more had been heard of the Serpent Brotherhood, Wilkins, the hooded figure, or their plan. With the wedding less than a week away, the office began buzzing with activity once more, but not of the magical kind. Flynn and Eve were arguing over the seating plan, Jones was trying to persuade Stone to tell him what he had planned for the stag night, and Jenkins was arguing with da Vinci over the possibility of visiting Dunvegan. For some reason, Jenkins was dead set against it. Cassandra was standing above them all, looking down from the mezzanine balcony, watching the lines of magical radiance rippling through the air. Flynn had allowed her to practise that new development as she liked. She could see their auras now, to some degree. Not in the traditional sense, not with different colours, but she could tell they were there. The stronger the magic, the brighter the aura. It was a glow, like the magic in the air around her, that permeated every aspect of the Library. She had expected Flynn to be the brightest, but he wasn't. When she thought about it, though, it was logical that Jenkins should have the brightest glow. He had been in contact with magic the longest, by a long way. Flynn was next, then da Vinci. She couldn't see herself. The boys were fairly similar. Baird only had a faint aura. She would have to ask Flynn, or maybe Jenkins, why that was. Maybe it was her position as Guardian. Maybe it was just that the rest of them had been affected by magic more through their own carelessness. She was the tactician of the group, after all.

An object on the central desk exploded into Cassandra's vision brighter than any of the people in the room, and even brighter than some of the artefacts. She turned off her synaesthetic vision and the blue glows of the books, artefacts and people all disappeared. The item that had caught her attention was the clippings book. It hadn't moved, simply glowed, and everyone else was so engrossed that they hadn't noticed it. Usually when the book had something to show them, it found a way of making itself noticed. Had it known she was watching it? That she would see the glow so much more brightly than everyone else? She had given up trying to work out just how sentient the Library was, and the clippings book was surely an extension of the Library itself. She hurried down the stairs. The light might have been meant for her, but if the case was for her alone, her own book would have been the one to flap madly until she checked it. It hadn't. This was a case for all of them. That meant it was serious.

"Clippings book!" Cassandra called as she skipped to a halt in front of the item in question. "New case!"

Jones was at her side immediately, peering down at the page. Stone joined her on her other side with a kiss on the cheek and an arm around her waist. Flynn and Eve's argument dithered to a halt with promises on both sides that it wasn't over and Aunt Ethel most certainly was not sitting _there_ , Flynn bounding over, and Eve leaning back against their desk. Jenkins took the opportunity to end his argument with da Vinci with a stern "and that's final" and a switch of focus to the growing group around the book.

"Well," he sighed, folding his arms and refusing to try and force his way into the huddle of Librarians all scrutinising the page. "Will one of you please tell us all what it says?"

"Ooh, this is bad," murmured Flynn. "Very, very bad."

"What?" Baird snapped. "Is it the Serpent Brotherhood again? Have they found some other Loki talisman?"

"No, nothing like that," her fiancé assured her. "It's something just as bad, though, or possibly worse."

"What's worse than the end of the world, Flynn?" Baird asked, one eyebrow raised.

"Police have issued a warning following the discovery of several bodies, all of which appear to have been mauled and eaten by some kind of wild animal. Cause of death is still said to be unclear, but they have stated that they are not looking for anyone else in association with the deaths," summarised Stone. "Definitely don't sound good to me."

"Okay, so we have a monster to hunt," shrugged Baird. "A dangerous one. We've done it before. We'll do it again. What's so bad about that that it tops the end of the world?"

"Honey, you may want to prepare yourself," said Flynn, turning to face her with worried eyes. "Just remember, it's not the most important thing about the day."

Baird looked sideways at him, her eyes narrowed. She crossed her arms. "Okay, Librarian. Spill it."

"You know that hotel out in the countryside just outside Portland?" Flynn began, treading very carefully.

"The one we've booked for the reception?" Baird's eyebrows rose and her jaw set.

"It's where they found the bodies," continued Stone.

"Guests?" Baird asked, her voice tight.

"Kitchen staff," finished Cassandra, flinching as if she expected projectiles from the Bride's direction.

"The head chef I booked for the catering?" Baird asked, eyes closed now.

"Missing," supplied Jones. "Presumed deceased."

The Colonel turned away, placing both fists on the desk she had been leaning against. She breathed in deeply through her nose, and out through her mouth. When she next spoke, her words were steady and calm. As calm as water behind a dam. "Flynn, what is it?"

"Looking at the evidence," he ventured, "I'd say it was a wendigo or one of its relatives. There are quite a few. The jenu, the atshen, the kee-wakw. My personal favourite is the baykok, but it only eats the livers of its prey. Or the Mogollon monster, although it decapitates its prey and none of the bodies were decapitated. Or there's the kushtaka, of course, but they're usually found in Alaskan waters. They're shape shifters that are usually either otter or human, but can take other shapes as well. The wechuge is another possibility. Very similar to the wendigo, but associated with the Athebaskan people, some of whom still live in Siletz, south of here."

"Does that make the local option our front runner then?" Baird enquired, her voice the model of supreme patience.

"It makes it a starting point for investigation," pointed out Jenkins. "Until somebody goes and examines those bodies, finds out for certain if any livers or heads or other body parts are missing, maybe gets some more information on the circumstances and the crime scene, we cannot be certain of anything."

"We can be certain of one thing," chipped in Jones. "Contradict me if you like, but I'm certain I don't want to meet this thing, whatever it is, on a dark and stormy night without any idea of how to kill it!"

"All the more reason to identify it," pointed out Cassandra.

"Very well," Jenkins raised a hand. "Might I suggest that Miss Cillian and Mr Jones examine the bodies. I know, Ezekiel, you may prefer to view the crime scene itself, but there's no guarantee the local constabulary will allow Miss Cillian entrance to the morgue. You may have to provide it instead. Colonel Baird, perhaps you should sit this one out. Mr Carsen, Mr Stone and myself will examine the crime scene and interview the locals."

"Jenkins," intoned Colonel Baird fastidiously, "there is a man eating monster roaming around the planned site of my wedding reception, working its way through my carefully chosen catering staff. Do you think for one minute I am going to sit back and allow my fiancé and his genius buddies to add themselves to this thing's menu without going with them? We may not know how to kill it but I'm still willing to bet it won't like being shot at, and I'm the only one of you with a firearm. I will go with Flynn and Stone. You stay here, with your new, or old, best bud, and get researching those monsters."

XXXX

"This is not a good idea," muttered Jones. "Whatever happened to don't antagonise local law enforcement?"

"You were perfectly happy to break into the forensics lab in Prague," hissed Cassandra. They were tucked out of sight behind the corner of the building across the street.

"I have seen some of these guys in my favourite restaurants," he complained.

"Favourite fast food restaurants," Cassandra corrected.

"I sometimes have the pasta!" Jones replied indignantly. "And pizza, with the right toppings, can be a balanced meal with all four food groups."

"The tomato and onion sauce for the vegetables, the pepperoni for the protein, the base for the carbs," she listed. "Where does the cheese fit again?"

"I'm a growing boy," he protested. "I need to keep my energy levels up."

"Uh-huh," Cassandra raised an eyebrow. "And what do your energy levels tell you about breaking into the morgue before they have a new addition?"

"We need a cover," he said. "In case we bump into anyone. Especially anyone we might have to talk to later properly!"

"Just use the usual. It tends to work," Cassandra sighed. "Come on."

Wincing and reluctant, Jones followed her across the road. They arrived at the door without incident. An app on Jones' phone kept the cameras away from them while he electronically picked the lock and let them in. They found themselves in a grey hallway lit by ageing fluorescent light bulbs. Doors flanked them to the left and right. At the end of the corridor, there was a T-junction, identical corridors extending in opposite directions.

"Toss a coin for it?" Jones suggested, looking at the two unlabelled corridors.

Cassandra, who had been looking down, looked up at this and rolled her eyes. She took his arm and dragged him down the left corridor. "Or we could just follow the gurney tracks."

XXXX

Colonel Eve Baird marched up to the officer on duty in front of the taped off kitchen door. Flynn and Stone followed tentatively behind her. When they left the annex building, the keys to Jenkins' buick in Baird's hand, neither man had thought it wise to comment on the speed of the Colonel's driving, nor the cacophony of startled and enraged car horns dopplering into whines as they passed them.

"I'm sorry, ma'am, this area is off limits to the public," reported the unfortunate officer.

"NATO Counter Terrorism," barked Baird, flashing her badge at him. "Move or be moved."

Something in her tone or eyes had warned the hapless young man that the former was the better option for all concerned. He saluted and stepped aside. He stepped back automatically as she passed. Flynn and Stone came to a halt in front of the pale figure.

"They're with me," came the shout from within. The officer moved aside again. Stone noted that he looked somewhat relieved to have them there, if only to shout orders at him.

Inside the kitchen, the lighting was dull. The windows were shuttered against nosey reporters or civilians. Some of the lights above flickered, others were dead entirely. A shout from Baird brought the two men over to a bloodstained corner. Kitchen utensils were scattered over the floor, their positions carefully tagged and undoubtedly photographed. Flynn took a few photographs of his own for reference later. For Eve's reference. For himself, he merely added the view to the list of those he wished he'd never seen.

Stone crouched down by an oddly shaped pool of blood. "Looks like there was a knife here," he said, pointing at the gap in the dark red. "There's some hair fibres trapped in the hinge of the cupboard too."

"Police will have the knife," murmured Baird, scanning the area. "They've probably got a sample of the hair too, but at least they left us some."

Stone took the plastic bag she handed him, and the tweezers, and fished a few hairs out of the hinge and into the bag. "At least we won't have to get Jones to steal their evidence."

"Don't bet on it," frowned Flynn. "Ordinary people are usually fairly good at avoiding the magical. If there's something happening that they know cannot possibly be happening, they usually tend not to see it. Nice, solid evidence, like monster hair, though. That's something I don't see the cops ignoring. And we'll probably need some blood too, just to double check identities."

"If there's monster blood in this lot, I can't tell it apart," shrugged Stone. "Can you?"

"No," admitted Flynn, tugging at his chin. "But I know a man who can."


	50. For The Perfect Day, Chapter 2

Jenkins peered patiently through the dual eyepieces of his microscope. He was aware of the insistent gaze of the Colonel scrutinising his every move. He raised his eyes and looked her up and down. Baird was standing, arms folded, back straight, staring at the microscope.

"We will stop this thing, Colonel," he said, speaking to her as one might a wounded animal. "We've faced worse."

"How can you tell me that when you can't tell me what it is, Jenkins?" Baird retorted. "Don't mollycoddle me. Just tell me what it is and how to kill it."

Jenkins sighed. "The blood and fibres are very similar to human. We're definitely dealing with a wendigo, not a wechuge or kushtaka. The similarity suggests that the monster we are dealing with was originally human, perhaps indeed one of the catering staff themselves, and is still undergoing the process of transformation."

"Can that happen?" Baird frowned, shifting uncomfortably.

"Oh yes," Jenkins nodded. "Through breaking the great taboo of eating human flesh, through a curse, through a bite from another wendigo. There is also the option of possession during a spirit quest, but that's perhaps less likely these days. Were any of your catering staff of Native American descent?"

"Not that I know of," shrugged Baird. "Why? Are wendigos only found in the Native American bloodlines?"

"Not necessarily," Jenkins shook his head. "The story originates within their culture, so one may hypothesise that they are more likely to fall prey to it, particularly in the first and last instances. A curse, whether deliberately cast on a person or simply left as part of an object, could affect anyone, as could a bite."

"Will everyone a wendigo bites become a wendigo?" Baird pressed.

"Only those left alive after being bitten," Jenkins face, and voice, grew grave. "They are few and far between, from what I can make out."

"So, it's like a werewolf, but without the whole moon thing?" Baird continued her interrogation.

"A little," Jenkins admitted. "Just a bit less catholic in its diet and a bit more specific in the 'how-to-kill' department."

"Which is?" Baird let a hand fall to her gun.

"The fully transformed wendigo is said to have a heart of ice," replied the old man. "Leave the silver bullets at home, Colonel. This one is going to require an altogether hotter projectile. To kill this creature, you need fire."

Baird nodded, a thoughtful look taking over her features. She didn't meet Jenkins gaze. Instead, she walked to the door, still deep in thought. "Tell Flynn and Stone I'll meet them there," she called back over her shoulder. "I have an errand to run."

"You still have my car keys!" Jenkins shouted down the hall after her.

XXXX

"I am never eating pizza again," commented Ezekiel, sitting with his back to the wall of the cupboard they were hiding in. The morgue had been an eventful trip, at least for his stomach, and he had narrowly avoided leaving evidence of their presence on the floor.

"Just be glad the sinks in there are so large," muttered Cassandra. "At least we got some pictures for Jenkins and it looks like three of the bodies have been formally identified already."

"How?" Ezekiel groaned. "They wouldn't show that to any of their relatives, surely?"

"Hmm, dental records probably," mused Cassandra. "As long as the jaw was still intact, of course. Genetics if they had their DNA on file already, although there would have been so much of that around you might not get a clear match, plus it takes ages. Or fingerprints if there were any fingers left."

"Please stop," the thief moaned, looking a shade greener than when they had entered the cupboard. Cassandra fell silent and they listened to the sounds of people moving around beyond. The cupboard they were in was near the evidence room, and they had only just managed to get in there while the officer on duty retrieved a box for someone on the other end of a phone call. They had heard the caller arrive to pick up the box, but hadn't been able to make out whether the person was a detective, forensics, or uniformed officer, nor had they heard which case the box had pertained to.

"Surely he's due a break soon," Cassandra sighed. "How often to evidence room officers usually take breaks?"

"Why would I know?" Jones complained. "I steal valuable artefacts, not crime scene evidence!"

"You've never had to, you know," she shrugged, "retrieve something incriminating? Something with your fingerprints on it, or DNA?"

"I'm the world's greatest thief," he bristled. "I do not leave evidence!"

XXXX

"We've been through the whole list," said Stone. "The only member of staff still unaccounted for is the chef."

"We're sure he's not among the dead?" Flynn checked.

"None of them match his description," replied the cowboy. "Five kitchen staff dead, three groundskeepers, one missing chef. No residents, thankfully, as the hotel is only just opening up for the season and only a handful of rooms are being used at present. Those residents are being confined to their rooms with the warning that a dangerous animal is on the loose, and staff have been asked to remain at the hotel until further notice for the same reason. Police are providing food and drink for them all, away from the area of the building around the kitchens."

"And we're sure he's not just taking a sick day?" Flynn continued.

"Absolutely," Stone nodded. "He checked in with the manager this morning when he arrived. Signed for a delivery an hour later too. Then there's nothing until one of the guests found a mangled gardener and raised the alarm."

"At which point the other bodies were gradually discovered," added the Senior Librarian.

"I realise I have been retired for a considerable number of years," began da Vinci.

"I'll say!" Jenkins quipped, walking into the room.

"But it seems to me," continued the maestro, glaring at Jenkins as he passed. "That this chef you are talking about is in one of three positions. Either he is another victim of the monster, yet to be found, and is already dead; or he is a victim that has been taken away for some reason, and is still alive; or he is the monster itself, and the one you should be hunting."

"And how exactly, o maestro, do you suggest we whittle those possibilities down?" Jenkins enquired, smiling sweetly.

"You know as well as I, Galeas, that possibilities in this job must often be dealt with simultaneously," growled da Vinci.

"You don't get to call me that," growled Jenkins.

"I 'don't get' to do a lot of things round here," countered Leonardo.

"Why don't you two stay here and try to work out what our monster is and where it might take its leftovers," suggested Flynn quickly, eager to prevent another petulant spat before it began. "Stone and I will find Eve and go see if we can track it from the source."

"We already know what the monster is," replied Jenkins, still glaring at da Vinci. "That's what I came in to tell you. That and Colonel Baird will meet you at the hotel, anyway. The creature you are looking for is a wendigo, which means our chef could well be any of the three options Leonardo mentioned, but he could also be a fourth. If he was bitten, and survived, he could well be on the way to becoming a wendigo himself."

"So there could be two?" Stone sat back. "Wonderful!"

"If the chef is in the process of transformation, he should be approached with caution, and tranquillised if possible," continued the Caretaker. "Full, and permanent, transformation will not take place until midnight. Unless, of course, he's already tasted human flesh. Then there's no way back and the only way to kill him will be to wait until the transformation is complete and then burn him."

"Burn him?" Flynn's eyebrows rose.

"The heart of the wendigo is said to be carved of ice," murmured Stone. "Only fire can kill an ice demon."

Flynn looked at him, frowning as if he suspected Stone of stealing his memories. In the silence Stone glanced over at the Senior Librarian and spotted the look.

"Expert in North American and European art," he shrugged. "Including Native American art and the legends that go with."

Flynn made no reply to this. There wasn't one he could, with good grace, come up with. He looked at Jenkins instead. "Jenkins, when Eve told you she'd meet us there..."

"She took the car keys, sir," Jenkins apologised, anticipating the rest of the remark. "I can set the door for the hotel if you'd like. I believe the Colonel mentioned that you had set a marker?"

"This one," sighed Flynn, throwing a cut coin trough the air. Jenkins caught it deftly. "Don't worry, it won't budge until it's other half calls it," he muttered, seeing Jenkins' raised eyebrows. "Just like me."

"Second thoughts?" Stone chortled quietly while Jenkins set up the door.

"Second, third, fourth, fifth," murmured Flynn. "I've had so many thoughts about this wedding, I've stopped counting."

"And?" Stone looked up at him.

"And they all say the same thing," nodded Flynn. "They say 'Flynn: you really need to find some time to write those vows'."

XXXX

The hotel was quiet where the door opened. It was within the area cordoned off by police, so there shouldn't have been anyone nearby. Flynn and Stone stuck their heads out, looking first one way, then the other. At no sign of monsters, they made the jump and walked into the hallway.

"This ain't creepy at all," muttered Stone under his breath.

They edged down the corridor towards the kitchens, Flynn taking the lead. The floors were the echoing tiles of the basement level, instead of the sound-muffling carpets of the guest floors. Try as they might, the two men found it impossible to move silently through the service corridor. Slowly, gradually, each step threatening to bring the whole house of cards down on their heads, they found their way to the kitchen. They could see the bloodstained corner they had examined earlier. Flynn held a finger to his lips and looked round the corner of the doorway. The room seemed empty. Flynn hurried over and crouched down behind the counter. A few seconds later, Stone did the same.

"There's nobody here," Stone hissed, as quietly as possible.

"That we can see," whispered Flynn. "My gut says otherwise."

"Then why the heck are we crouched down here, and not runnin' for cover or findin' ourselves the biggest knife in the block?" Stone murmured back.

"Librarians don't run from danger," mouthed Flynn pompously. "And a knife won't kill this thing anyway."

"Makes me feel a darn sight better!" Stone muttered.

"We need to know which crime scene comes first," hissed Flynn. "I need to take another look at the blood spatter."

Stone rolled his eyes but kept quiet as Flynn glanced round the side of the counter and edged towards the taped off area.

"Well?" Stone asked after a while.

"There isn't enough blood left to determine exactly when the murder was committed," whispered Flynn. "It congeals at a set rate, but there are no pools deep enough to show any difference over the length of time we're looking at."

"Gutting. Really," muttered Stone. "Anything else?"

"The direction of blood spatter suggests that the carotid artery was the first severed in at least one case, and probably the first, and that our victim was heading up that aisle when he or she was caught, not this one. That way leads to the outer door and the grounds."

"So the outdoor staff got it first, then these guys?" Stone whispered.

Flynn sat back and turned to Stone. "Maybe, or maybe the creature started its rampage in here, then spotted the door and doubled back to it once it was done tearing up the caterers. If the blood splatter had been going from here over to that wall," he pointed. "That at least would have suggested the attacks started in here. There aren't even any bloody footprints to go on!"

Stone held up a finger and Flynn grew silent. Then they both heard it: a faint tap, tap, tapping of claws on the tiled floor. It was getting closer. It was coming towards them. Stone looked around, but there were no weapons in sight. Flynn nodded at the door they had entered by and the two men began edging along the side of the counter towards it. The sound stopped. They halted. It began moving again, this time changing direction to cross the aisle to the next and start advancing along it, right in line with their exit route. Flynn frowned. Stone swore silently.

 

The sound grew closer. It stopped. This time it was Stone's turn to, with Flynn looking over his shoulder, peer around the corner. "There's nothin' there," he hissed.

"Where's it gone?" Flynn whispered.

Behind them, there was the faint chink of metal on metal. Both men froze. Two feet landed with a solid thud behind Flynn. Both men screamed and bolted for the door.

Baird rested the flame thrower on her shoulder and walked over to the doorway. "Do all Librarians scare that easily?"

Flynn and Stone slowly reappeared at the kitchen door.

"Hey, we were defenceless," said Stone. "We were just retreating to a more strategically advantageous position."

"And the screaming like little girls part?" Baird tried, and failed, to keep the grin off her face.

"Loud noises are known to startle many fierce animals," began Flynn. "Although hippos..."

"Baird, get over here," cut in Stone, his tone carefully level.

"Oh, nice try, Stone," she laughed. "I am not going to fall for that one."

"Eve, I really think you should step over here now," nodded Flynn, his eyes fixed on a point over her shoulder. "And fire up that flame thrower you've brought. Now would be a really good time to test it."

"Do as he says, Baird," said Stone, holding out a hand. "We ain't jokin' around here."

Eve looked at them both through narrowed eyes. She was about to laugh off their antics as a poor attempt at revenge when a shadow in the shiny chrome surfaces moved. Holding up a hand to let the men know she had seen it, Eve eased off the safety catch on the weapon. She spun round, flame thrower at the ready, and the world went dark.


	51. For The Perfect Day, Chapter 3

Flynn Carsen, Senior Librarian, was a huddled heap in the corner of the office. Stone had been forced to drag him back there. The flame thrower, now a mangled heap of scrap metal, lay on the office floor. Both men were scratched and bruised, but neither had been bitten. The long, sinuous arm of the wendigo had caught them both, knocking them to the ground. Baird, victim of the wendigo's first blow, was already down, the flame thrower on the floor by the doorway. Stone had picked it up and fired, catching the head of the monster as it turned. It's scream echoed through his brain as he watched Flynn, head in his hands. The creature had turned its attention to the two men then, sending them both flying with one sweep of its arm that had crushed the weapon beyond hope of use. By the time they came round, it was gone, and so was Eve.

The back door flashed and Cassandra and Ezekiel stumbled through, a brown cardboard box in the thief's hands. Stone looked up. Cassandra saw his look and put out a hand to Ezekiel, stopping him in his tracks. Stone nodded at Flynn and they followed his gaze.

"What happened?" Cassandra asked, joining Stone by the central desk. "Where's Colonel Baird?"

"We don't know," murmured Stone, keeping his voice low. "We were attacked. Flynn and I were knocked out. When we came round she was gone."

"You think she went after it?" Jones wondered aloud.

"No," was the simple reply. Stone turned a dark gaze on the younger man. "She was out cold. If she'd come round while we were still out, she'd have stayed with us, or at least left some sign she was okay."

"You think it took her," breathed Cassandra, her face paling. "Do you think she's..."

"I hope not," Stone cut her off before she could finish the question. "Either way, we need to find her and Flynn isn't going to be much use as he is. I think we're on our own."

"Well," murmured Jones, rummaging in the box for something, "we know silver doesn't seem to put it off much. One of our victims was wearing a silver crucifix when they died."

Stone took the item from the thief's hands. It was a hallmarked silver crucifix on a matching chain, the cross with its figure being a good inch long. "That has to get back to the evidence lock up, Jones," he replied, handing the piece back. "Something like that'll be important to the relatives."

"I'm an art thief, Stone, I don't steal from poor people," Jones replied icily. "What did you find out?"

"It's a wendigo," he shrugged. "We kill it with fire. We have until midnight to rescue Baird, if she's been bit, so long as she hasn't fed yet herself. Jenkins is looking for ways to turn her back as we speak. Da Vinci is looking for places it might hide."

"And you are?" Jones snarked.

"Making sure our boss doesn't go and do somethin' stupid," Stone hissed back, squaring up to the younger man. "Why? You got a better idea?"

"Stop it!" Cassandra shouted under her breath. "You are worse than useless if you two start squabbling again! You said we need fire to kill it. Did you have something in mind?"

"Baird had a flame thrower, but it got flattened," Stone shrugged. "A can of hairspray and a lighter would work in close quarters at a push, but I think we really need to consider using _it_."

"But that's their wedding present!" Jones complained. "There's no way we'll find something else at this short notice!"

"There won't be a wedding if we don't get Baird back," chastised Cassandra. "We can always give them it early once the monster's dead and we know she's safe."

"I think we need to give it to him right now," said Stone, nodding at Flynn. "He needs to do something, trust me on that, and he needs hope. This gives both of those."

"You sure it's a good idea taking him with us?" Jones murmured.

"You gonna stay here and keep an eye on him if we don't?" Stone countered.

"Ahem," coughed Jenkins. He had arrived at the other side of the central desk without their noticing him, and was spreading a map out between himself and da Vinci. "This may be easier than we thought. It appears that wendigos follow the same general rules as werewolves and vampires in terms of reversing the effect of the bite. As long as the bitten party has not fed, mere removal of the culprit will nullify the venom. Kill it, children. Kill it and do not let the Colonel feed. As for it's location, we have a number of possibilities."

"Wendigo make their nests in cold, damp places," continued da Vinci. "Today has been a cold, damp day, so it may be anywhere in the nearby area, but we think it will divide its time between the hotel, where it knows it has already found food, and here," he pointed at a spot on the map, maybe a mile or so from the hotel. "These are mines. Good, old fashioned, walk in the front door style, mines. No need for complex lift shafts here, our monster can just walk right in to them as if they were a cave."

"How big are the mines?" Stone asked, looking down at the map. Another piece of paper was placed in front of him.

"It really is amazing what one can find on the internet," smirked da Vinci. "These are maps of the mines detailing the different shafts and, importantly, the portions that are flooded. I believe it is in one of these areas that we will find our wendigo."

"They, not we," commented Jenkins. "You're retired, remember."

Leonardo sniffed and avoided his gaze. "Indeed."

"Go get my welding torch from the lab," sighed Jenkins, his patience fraying. "And don't think I don't know you know where it is!"

The door swung shut behind the artista, and Jenkins looked back to the trio. "It is imperative you kill this thing and kill it fast. I will keep an eye on Mr Carsen, Mr Stone: you cannot afford to be looking after him as well. Mr Jones you will take the oxyacetylene welding torch that Leo is retrieving. Mr Stone, you will take the item you were discussing. You at least know how to use it. Miss Cillian..."

"I play at being Merlin again," sighed Cassandra. "I know. But I'm not strong enough on my own..."

Jenkins withdrew two drawstring bags from his waistcoat pocket, one of black velvet, the other of white silk, and handed them to Cassandra. "In the black bag you will find the Ring of Gyges. It provides the wearer with the power to become invisible. You can draw on its power whether you are wearing it or not, though. In the other is a necklace given to an erstwhile colleague of mine by that same fair lady who rendered up Excalibur itself, after the original sword in the stone was destroyed. It has the power to make the wearer universally loved by all. That, at least, will not change how anyone here sees you in the slightest."

"Oh, I don't know," Cassandra blushed. "You're forgetting Signore da Vinci, for one thing."

"Oh no, I'm really, really not," smiled Jenkins.

Cassandra looked at the expression on Jenkins' face. She winced. "Why can I never just be Merlin without the whole feeling uncomfortable about people thing?"

"He is aware," began Stone.

"Oh yeah," grinned Jenkins, cutting him off before he could continue. "Been there, had that conversation."

"I think I'll still wait until I'm through the door before I put the necklace on though," said Cassandra, pocketing the two pouches."

"Probably best," agreed Jenkins with a nod. "I'll set it up."

"I'll get the sword," whispered Stone to the other two, as Jenkins headed for the globe. He hurried off towards their living quarters.

XXXX

Eve Baird groaned and wiped a drip of water from her face. She attempted sitting up. Her head swam. She collapsed back down again with a sigh. She was cold. She was thirsty. She was hungry. She was so hungry. It coursed though her veins like a drug. It drove into her stomach like a knife. She tried sitting up again and her head spun so much she retched. She had to find food. Any kind of food. But where was she? She opened her eyes but it made no difference. The world around her was as black as tar. The air tasted dank and stale. The water that drip, drip, dripped onto her face tasted bitter. She rolled over onto her stomach. Her muscles and joints complained, each adding their own voice to the symphony of pain that enveloped her. One voice rose high above the rest. A stinging, sharp, scream of pain from her lower torso, front and back. An iridescent double arc of bright points among a dull background ache. It didn't matter. It couldn't matter. She had to get out of here. She paused, listening to the echoes of the water, dripping now onto the hard rock instead of her face. She was in cave. That much she was sure of. If there was a way in, there must be a way out. That was logical, surely. She remembered the feeling of rock at her back and side when she had regained consciousness. She had been in a corner then, or a niche of some sort. She reached out and found the wall of the cave. It felt oddly smooth in some parts. She could see no light, so she must be deep in the cave system, she thought. She must at least be around a few bends.

She dragged herself forwards, setting her jaw against the pain that shot through her with every movement. The tunnel went on, inch after inch, metre after agonising metre. She reached a timber, and blinked in the darkness. Man made? A deliberately constructed tunnel? Not one for a road or rail track, she thought. The ground would have been smoother. A mine then? There were mines near Portland. Were there any near the hotel? There must be, surely. Were there any caves? If Flynn... If _they_ were looking for her, would they come here? Were there other options? Should she stay were she was, hoping they would find her, or should she risk crawling onward, possibly toward the light, possibly deeper into the labyrinthine shafts? She thrust out a hand to the other side, hoping to feel the opposite wall. She felt nothing but damp stone and water. With one hand on the wall beside her, she took a breath, steeled herself, and dragged herself forward into the darkness.

XXXX

Stone joined the other two still buckling the sword belt around his hips. Jenkins drew in a long hiss of air and stepped forward, batting the cowboy's hands out of the way and fixing sword and scabbard in place.

"Remind me," he said, "once this is all over, to teach you how to use a sword properly."

"I know how to use a sword," Stone protested. "Pointy end goes into other man, or monster as the case may be."

"Yes," sighed Jenkins. "Remember when you told Baird you knew how to punch?"

"Fine," muttered Stone. "But I ain't prancin' about with some filigree handled foil with one hand in the air and a sieve on my face."

"Well no, of course not," replied Jenkins, looking confused. "You'll be learning how to use a sword."

As the old man turned his back, Stone shared a look with Cassandra. By the time Jenkins had spun the globe and turned back to them, they were both innocently facing the door and waiting patiently. Jones, on the far side of Cassandra, was the only one to betray the slight hint of a smile across his features. Light flashed around the edges of the door and Cassandra stepped forward, opening the door into the hotel basement once again.


	52. For The Perfect Day, Chapter 4

Cassandra drew her hair to the side, allowing Jacob to fasten the necklace in place. He took the opportunity to place a gentle kiss on her exposed neck and then her cheek.

"Focus," she smiled. "We have a job to do."

"Yeah, and a dangerous one," he murmured in reply. "I ain't passin' up an opportunity to kiss you while I can. Heaven only knows if we're all gonna walk away from this."

"I know," she whispered, squeezing his hand. "I love you."

"Ditto," he grinned.

Behind them, Jones checked the pilot flame on the makeshift flame thrower Jenkins had constructed for him. "If you two are done playing Tommy and Tuppence, can we go hunt down the creepy man-eating monster before the light fades. The worst thing any monster hunter ever does in any horror flick is go hunting in the dark. It never ends well."

"Yeah, yeah," sighed Stone, taking charge. "Come on, the exit to the grounds is this way."

They edged into the kitchen, Stone unsheathing the sword as he moved to the external door. It hung open, a smear of blood running across it at chest height. The sword gleamed red in the light of the evening sun as they moved out into the hotel gardens.

"You sure that's the right sword?" Jones asked. "I don't see much fire."

"It's the right sword," murmured Stone, leading the way through the shrubbery along a path to the far end of the grounds. "It'll have a flame when it needs one."

They fell silent, moving in an arrowhead shape: Stone at the front, sword held before him, then Jones and Cassandra on either side and slightly behind, their eyes watching the land around them. Nobody met them. The staff and guests were still confined to the safety of the hotel while the police searched for the wild animal responsible. The police themselves had departed as soon as the light had started to fade, retiring to the warmer, safer positions of research at the office or rest at home. They were not aware of the urgency the Librarians were toiling under. Gradually, like a shape emerging from the clouds, the pedestrian gate at the far end of the hotel grounds became visible. Stone stepped aside to let Jones pick the padlock that chained the six foot wrought iron gate to its fence.

"I'm gonna vote we don't lock the gate after us," said Jones, dropping the latch back into place once they were through. "We don't know if we're gonna need a sharp exit."

"We don't kill this thing tonight, we lose Baird," said Stone. "Then we have to kill her too. We ain't gonna be using any sharp exit."

"Whether we kill it or not, there are plenty of other critters in these hills that like to hunt after dark," Jones reminded him. "Growing up in Australia you learn to respect how many wild things there are out there trying to kill you."

"It's Australia," Stone shrugged. "Isn't that just everything?"

Jones winced, then considered this, following on behind the other two. "Dude has a point," he admitted quietly.

The walk to the mines was long and over rough terrain. By the time they saw the entrance, the light was fading and it was merely a darker patch against a shadow-strewn rock face. Jones couldn't see what exactly Stone did, but with a flick of his wrist the sword in his hand burst into flame, illuminating the interior.

"To shout or not to shout," murmured Cassandra. "If we call for Baird, we might draw the monster. If we don't..."

"We might not find the monster in time," finished Stone. "We need to draw it here. Are you ready for this?"

"Don't I look ready?" Cassandra asked, and Stone looked round to find himself addressing thin air. Thin air kissed his lips.

"Well, that was weird," he smiled.

"I really want to borrow that ring when we're done here," muttered Jones.

"No," chorused the couple.

"Baird!" Stone yelled, his voice echoing through the tunnels. "You here?"

The echoes died away and faded into silence. They stood frozen, listening. Ezekiel looked up. "She's here. She's deep in though. I can hear her, but only just."

"Which way?" Cassandra asked him.

"I don't know," he shook his head. "Left I think. Move that way and try again."

They circled left, holding positions looking out from three points of a triangle. Once again, the tunnels echoed with Baird's name. This time, Ezekiel nodded and they set off down the left tunnel, calling out and listening as they went.

"Stone!" Baird's voice called faintly when they reached the next junction. "Jones! Cassandra! Down here!"

They followed the voice, slowing at every junction and looking to Jones whenever there was a difference of opinion over direction. Gradually, the dripping of water joined the call of the Colonel and its constant echoes began to bounce around. Eventually, the distortions to Baird's voice were reduced by proximity. They turned a corner, the light from the sword reflecting off the damp walls, and saw her, lying there on her side. In the red light of the sword's flame, the pool beside her could have been anything. Cassandra ran some through her invisible fingers, assessing the feel of the liquid as much as its colour.

"It's water," she said. "Mostly water anyway. She does look like she's lost a lot of blood though. I think we have to assume she's been bitten. Colonel Baird? Eve? Can you stand?"

"Hungry," Baird moaned. "So hungry."

"I vote we keep back from the hungry half-monster until we know she's safe," said Jones, reaching out a hand to the invisible Cassandra. He missed, but she moved back anyway.

"I know: we have a wendigo to kill," she muttered, getting to her feet. "Colonel Baird, has the creature been back? Do you know where it is? We need to kill it to save you."

"Need to eat," groaned Baird. "Hungry."

"Have you seen it, Eve?" Cassandra persisted. "Where did it last go?"

With a whimper, Baird pointed a shaky finger in the direction of the dripping water. The path led further into the mines, into the group of tunnels that had been marked as flooded on da Vinci's map.

"Okay, Cassie, stay here and keep an eye on her," ordered Stone. "Keep that ring on. If Baird's about to go postal, the last thing we need is her finding you."

"I can knock her out if I have to," Cassandra reminded him. "I don't just do fireballs and force fields."

"All the same," he replied, dropping his voice to a gentler tone, "I'll feel better if I know you're safe."

"I know," she answered. "I'll keep it on."

An unseen hand reached out and touched his face. He caught it and kissed the invisible palm. "Okay. Jones! You're with me. Let's go find this thing."

Hoisting the temporary flame thrower, Jones followed Stone deeper into the mines. "Are we sure it's in here?"

"You saw Baird," muttered Stone, not bothering to keep his voice down.

"Yeah," shrugged Jones. "Not that I wouldn't normally trust every word that comes out of Colonel Baird's mouth, but she's hardly a reliable witness right now, mate."

"She's the only one we've got," retorted Stone. "Start yellin'. Let's see if we can't draw this thing to us."

XXXX

Cassandra listened to the drip of the water and the regular, receding shouts of the two men. The part of the mine they were in was wider than most, with a short, dead end bulging outward and away from her, behind Baird. She heard the Colonel groan again. This time it sounded less like the cries of a woman in pain and more like the growl of a wild beast. She twisted the ring on her finger. Taking a deep breath, she let her synaesthetic vision switch on, analysing the depth and height of the cavern. Faint blue lines shimmered in the air. She looked at her hands and saw them outlined in blue, the ring glowing brightly. She looked at Baird. The faint blue aura she had noticed that morning had grown. It was pulsing brightly. At it's brightest, it obscured everything beyond it. When the pulse darkened, however, Cassandra spotted something that made her blood freeze.

Behind the Colonel, another blue aura crouched back by the rock wall. It was the wall furthest from them, where the light from the sword had only cast shadows. She moved to the side to get a better look. Without the Colonel's new aura in the way, she could see a faint blue umbilical connecting the two beings. Looking back at her friend, Cassandra wondered if she was fast enough, or skilled enough, to take on two of the creatures at once. One wendigo would make a challenging target. Two on the other hand...

She edged further from the two, wondering if she could knock out the Colonel without the wendigo noticing. Wondering what it would do if she yelled for the boys. Would they even hear her? Their cries were fainter now. She could barely hear them. But Jones had better hearing than her, didn't he? Time and again, he had proven it. Being able to listen for trouble was part of what had made him such a good thief.

"Hey, Jones!" Cassandra called jovially, trying to keep the fear out of her voice. "What was that dinosaur called in Jurassic Park? You know? The one nobody had ever heard of then everyone was scared of?"

She waited, eyes flicking between Baird and the creature in the corner.

Deep in the mines, Jones put a hand out and grabbed Stone's arm. "We need to go back," he hissed urgently.

"We ain't chickening out now, Jones," growled Stone. "We need to find this thing."

"You didn't hear her," Jones persisted, retaining his grip on Stone's arm. "Cassandra shouted. Asked me something about velociraptors."

"Why the hell would she do that?" Stone frowned. "And why does that mean we need to go back, anyway?"

"Because she already knows everything about velociraptors," Jones explained patiently. "We watched the film back when I was ill. She's eidetic, mate, she doesn't forget stuff. She just asked me what those dinos were called, when she knows I know that she knows exactly what they're called, and exactly what they do."

"And that is?" Stone's eyes narrowed. His gut told him he wasn't going to like the answer.

"They're intelligent," replied Jones. "They hunt co-operatively. They use one of their number as bait, while the other, or others, hide and wait for their prey. She's telling us it's there. Baird lied. She's not our Guardian now. She's bait."

Stone bolted back up the tunnels so fast that Jones had to grab him before he missed their turning. The two men raced through the mines, flaming sword lighting the road ahead, and reached the cavern only to stop short, Jones cannoning into the back of Stone. The scene was exactly as they had left it, with Baird by the far wall, moaning in pain, or hunger.

"Cassie?" Jacob whispered.

"I'm here," said a voice to his left, next to the cavern wall. "It's okay, they know you're here already. They can hear you, but I don't think they can understand you. You don't need to whisper."

"Where are they?" Jones asked, scanning the shadowy walls.

A fireball appeared in mid-air off to Stone's left, and floated up to the far end of the cavern. Three gaunt creatures hissed and shrank back from the light. Two were on the ceiling. The third was in the corner closest to Colonel Baird.

"The one in the lower corner is the one that bit Baird," said Cassandra. "I'll explain later. I can take it out okay, but as soon as I do the two up above will attack, maybe Baird too."

"Can you fire those things from behind us without hitting us?" Stone enquired, his eyes on the upper monsters.

"I don't see why not," shrugged Cassandra.

"Get behind us then," he told her. "You take out the corner guy. Jones and I will deal with the top two. Once you've zapped him, Baird should be released from the venom, right?"

"Should be," echoed Jones. "We don't know how long it takes to kick in though."

"True," nodded Stone. "Cassie, you need to be ready to block her, or knock her out."

"I'm ready," murmured Cassandra's voice behind him.

An invisible arm snaked out between the two men and Stone felt a hand placed gently on his shoulder. Light blossomed in the air before them, rotating into a globe of fire and shooting across the cavern like a comet. The wendigo barely had time to move, and certainly none to escape. Its dying shrieks filled the tunnels with echoes even as its two fellows dropped from the ceiling and dived for the trio. Baird too leapt into action, teeth bared and eyes wild, but she rebounded off a wall of pure magical energy and fell senseless to the ground. The cobbled-together flame thrower spewed fire like a miniature dragon, holding off the further of the two enraged creatures and engulfing the other. Stone swung the sword, side-stepping round the monster to outflank it and force it closer to Jones' flames. It hissed and gurgled angrily, throwing its head back and forth between the two heat sources. Slowly the two men backed it into a corner, herding it over the two fallen, charred bodies of its pack members. The flame thrower roared again, and the wendigo's death screams filled the cavern. As the echoes faded, Jones and Stone hurried over to where Cassandra, now visible, was crouched over Baird.

"She's still unconscious," she told them, looking up at Stone. "You'll need to carry her. Give me the sword."

"Can't you just make one of your fireball lanterns, like you did a minute ago?" Jones asked, pointing a thumb over his shoulder.

"I don't want to run out of power," Cassandra replied, standing and taking the sword from Jacob. "I'm already tired."

"Let's just get out of here and back to the Library," said Stone. "We can call Jenkins and get him to set the door to one of us. It'll probably crop up in one of the office huts out there."

"There's something else we need to do," said Cassandra as they made their way back through the tunnels. "You call Jenkins once we're out and get him to set the door, but Ezekiel, I need you to steal something from the mine supplies before we leave."

"And what's that?" Ezekiel looked round, half suspecting.

"How are you with explosives?" Cassandra asked.

XXXX

"I still don't see why you had to blow up the mines," muttered da Vinci. "Surely Miss Cillian's extraordinary abilities would have been sufficient to create a seemingly natural cave in. That would trap the creatures just as effectively."

"Miss Cillian's extraordinary powers are just that," chided Jenkins. "Extraordinary. We have no way of knowing how much strain it would have put on her to do such a thing, or the cost it would have entailed, and magic always has a cost. No, much better to blow up the whole entrance tunnel. Nothing would be coming out of there through the fire of the explosion, and nothing will be fighting its way through those tonnes of rock any time soon. The mine was closing down anyway."

"How's Baird?" Stone sighed, looking down at the sleeping figure of the Colonel. Beside him, Cassandra was sitting down, watching the Colonel sleep with a worried look. She should be resting herself, he thought.

"She'll be fine," said a hoarse voiced Flynn. "You cannot know how grateful I am..."

"Don't," said Ezekiel. "It's not necessary. It's Colonel Baird."

"All the same..."

A movement on the bed broke Flynn's chain of thought. Eve opened her eyes and winced at the light. Slowly she began to raise herself up. Flynn and Ezekiel rushed to help her, filling the space behind her with cushions and Flynn. Jenkins handed her a glass of water.

"How do you feel, Colonel?" Jenkins asked, taking back the empty glass.

"Like I've been hit by a truck and half eaten by a shark," she replied, running a hand over the bandaged wounds in her side, her other interweaving it fingers with those of the man sitting behind her, wrapping his arms around her and holding her as close as if sheer proximity could meld them together into one being for eternity. "Do I even want to know what happened?"

"You're okay now," smiled Cassandra. "That's all that matters."

The thief nudged Stone and nodded at the table behind him. He looked down at Cassandra, who met his gaze and nodded. Jenkins too, he noticed, was watching him expectantly. He turned and picked up the item on the table.

"We had planned to give you this at the wedding, or after it," he said, turning back with sword and scabbard in his hands. "It's our gift to you. Cassie and I came across it when we were looking for Surt's sword. We know it can't replace Cal, and it still seems a little shy, but when the Library led us to it we thought she was trying to tell us something, so here it is."

Flynn and Eve accepted the sword from Stone, the former drawing it forth while his fiancée held the sword belt and scabbard. Flynn looked the blade up and down, examining the detail of the hilt, or lack thereof. A flash of light reflected up its length. Flynn frowned and shifted the weight of the sword in his grip. Flames burst from the blade, making Eve jump back in surprise.

"Next time, warn me," she told him, eyes wide. "What is it?"

With another movement the flames died away, leaving only the suggestion of their presence in the heat and light that shone from the undamaged metal. Flynn's smile grew.

"This is an angelic blade," he breathed. "This is the sword of Uriel, guardian of Eden. Stone, where did you find this?"

"Like I said," shrugged the cowboy. "We came across it in our research. Found a few leads, called in a few favours. We may have used the occasional artefact, but everything's safe and nobody suffered any lasting ill effects so..."

"Thank you," said Eve. "For this. For everything you went through to get it. For everything you went through to get me back. Thank you."

"I second that," said Flynn, sheathing the sword and reaching out a hand to each of them in turn. "I am forever grateful."

"Yeah, you haven't been on your stag night, mate," grinned Ezekiel. "I wouldn't thank him too soon. He won't even give me a hint at what he's got planned."

"I'm sayin' nothin'," laughed Stone. "You'll just have to wait and see."


	53. For The Perfect Day, Chapter 5

The day of the wedding dawned bright, and clear, and peacefully. Flynn had fully recovered from his stag night, which had begun with Stone spiking one of his first beers with water from the fountain of youth and had resulted in the increasingly inebriated Librarian having to search for ID at every bar. The girls were being annoyingly secretive about their hen night. At intervals throughout the subsequent day, they would burst into fits of giggles, usually when one of the men said something. The looks of confused frustration that were cast in their direction when this occurred did nothing to silence them or persuade them to explain. In fact it usually just made them laugh more. They had left the Library the night before, arm in arm and still giggling like teenagers, to spend the night at Eve's apartment.

Most of Flynn's things had already found their way to Eve's apartment, and the rest would be moved there from his rooms in the Library later. He hadn't found time to look for a new apartment when he first gave up the one in New York, then he just hadn't bothered. He looked down at the sword in its scabbard. So little was known about either of them.

"What shall we call you then?" Flynn mused, drawing forth the blade and laying it flat on the table by its scabbard while he went about dressing. "Do you have a name already, perhaps? Not that I'm likely to guess it of course. Every good sword deserves a name though. Like Excalibur, although what that originally came from perhaps we'll never know: Latin, Welsh, Cornish, Breton. They all mean slightly different things. I called him Cal, you know. I can't call you Cal, though: that would be silly. A flaming sword, huh? A sword of fire. Well, let's see. Sword of fire in Latin is gladius ignis. I could call you Gladis for short, what do you say?"

He looked round to the table, but found the sword had hidden itself back in its scabbard.

"So you can move on your own," he grinned. "I wondered. It's okay, you're safe here. This is your home now. This is the Library. We protect magical things here. That's what you did, wasn't it. For thousands of years, you guarded the way to the Tree of Life, in the Garden of Eden. Then Christ died for our sins and the way was opened again. Where have you been since? Stone never did tell me where he found you. Underwater was all he'd say. Was that where you were? Created to guard and protect, then lying forgotten on a sea bed? Two thousand years of nothing to do but boil the occasional curious octopus? Lost and then found again. Hmm, found in Latin is inveniru. What about that? Might make a nickname difficult though. Veni? No: veni, vidi, vici. That won't work. Vinnie? Vini means wine, though. Guarding flame? Guarding fire? Custodiens ignis? No, I don't like it. No need for a name in Latin of course. Sword of fire in French is épée de feu. Found is trouvé. Il est une langue beaucoup plus romantique que le Latin, je trouve. Latin est multo magis militaris et sollemnis."

"Personally I prefer Beaduleóma," said a voice by the door. "Perhaps Bee or Beady for short?"

"Jenkins!" Flynn spun round, half happy, half panicked, half dressed. "What time is it? It's not time to go yet, is it? I cannot get these cufflinks to fasten and this bow tie refuses to be tied properly!"

"Relax, Mr Carsen," sighed the Caretaker, fixing the bow tie for Flynn and starting on his cufflinks. "I am merely checking to make sure you are awake. There are hours to go yet. Have you eaten?"

"No, I think my internal organs are still catching up age-wise," he muttered, allowing the old man to fold down his collar and re-button his shirt properly. "How could you let them play that trick on me, Jenkins?"

"Me, sir," replied Jenkins, smiling innocently. "I believe Mr Stone was behind that particular prank."

"You know very well that Stone would do no such thing without checking there were no lasting effects," chided Flynn. "If it had been Jones in charge..."

"If Mr Jones had been in charge, he _would_ have checked with me," said Jenkins emphatically. "Mr Stone did not. Instead, he checked with da Vinci. Leonardo then asked me."

"Is there anyone who wasn't aware of what I was drinking during the first part of that evening?" Flynn sighed.

"I believe it was a surprise to Mr Jones," smiled Jenkins. "And the ladies, of course, didn't find out until much later."

"Yes, I remember the look on Eve's face," Flynn couldn't help grinning. "I thought she was going to lynch Stone!"

Jenkins nodded. "Had the effects been permanent, as far as any temporal reversal is permanent anyway, I think she might have tried."

The older man helped Flynn with his formal jacket. "You really should eat something, you know," he said. "Everyone's guts feel like that on the day. It's just nerves. Absolutely normal. There is tea and toast in the office when you are ready. Don't worry: I've looked out the large serviettes, just in case."

XXXX

Colonel Eve Baird sat still, eyes closed as the beautician put the final touches to her make-up. Beside her, Cassandra was having her make-up done while another denizen of the parlour, the hairdresser that had attended on them both, attempted for the fifth time to pin up a reluctant curl of red hair. No matter which type of pin or clasp or grip she used, and no matter how much spray or wax or gel, a minute or two after she walked away the curl would be back in place, framing Cassandra's face as if nothing had been done, all traces of products mysteriously gone.

"I really think we should just leave it," smiled Cassandra apologetically when the strand unhitched itself from its moorings once again. "It's fine. In fact I quite like it that way."

"But it won't match the bride," began the poor young woman.

"That doesn't matter," chipped in Eve. "It's not like we have to match exactly, after all."

Reluctantly, the hairdresser left them. When the beauticians were done with their make-up, the manicurists set to work on their nails. Eventually, they sat back, nails drying, at the front of the shop. An old buick pulled up outside and Jenkins, resplendent in silver grey top hat and tails, appeared at the door.

"Ladies," he began, holding the door for them. "Your carriage awaits."

"How's my dearly beloved this morning?" Eve quipped, pausing as she reached the car. "Still himself?"

"And then some," sighed Jenkins, opening the door for her. "I left him in Mr Stone's capable hands. I believe Mr Jones and Leo were there too."

"No emergencies?" Baird checked.

"None, my dear," said the old man gently. "Relax. It is your wedding day. Da Vinci is minding the shop for us today. He is more than qualified, just do not tell him I said that. If he needs anything, he will call me, and Mr Stone, Mr Jones and Miss Cillian and I will deal with it, after the wedding."

Jenkins drove the ladies back to Eve's apartment and waited while they changed. Cassandra came out first, her dress a short, scoop-necked affair that faded gradually from white to pale yellow at the lower hem, which was gathered up by blue net roses at intervals to reveal a host of pale blue net underskirts pushing it outward. Blue and yellow silk flowers rained down from the top, densest across the décolletage and gradually decreasing in number until there were only the odd one or two blue blossoms against the yellow skirt.

Jenkins smiled. "It's very you, my dear."

Eve joined them then, a bouquet of white, yellow and blue flowers in one hand and white and yellow in the other. She handed the former to Cassandra. "You forgot your bouquet."

"Cornflowers," smiled Jenkins, indicating the additional colour in the bunch. "Young men used to wear one of those as a buttonhole and, if it stayed fresh, it was thought to be an indication that the young lady of their current interest would be the one for them. It gained another meaning when the Victorians came along, but I'm sure your own young man can tell you that."

"He helped choose it," replied Cassandra with a smile. "Why? Should I be worried?"

"Not at all," smiled Jenkins. "I take it he helped choose the other flowers?"

"The bridal rose was a bit of a given," smirked Eve. "Even I managed that one. The ivy is usually a wedding thing too. The gorse, though?"

"Love for all seasons," explained Jenkins. "There is a saying: when gorse is out of bloom then kissing is out of fashion."

Cassandra indicated the purple-blue flower in Jenkins' lapel. "What's yours, then?"

"Monkshood," he replied. "I wouldn't touch it, Miss Cillian. There is a barrier spell on it, but we don't know how easily you can get past those yet. This is not how I would like to find out."

"Barrier spell?" Eve's eyes narrowed. "What am I missing?"

"It's aconite," explained Cassandra. "Poisonous."

"Jenkins," the bride set her hands on her hips and turned to the Caretaker, "why are you wearing a poisonous plant to my wedding?"

"My own private joke," he shrugged. "Nothing sinister, I assure you. I've simply dabbled in the Victorian language myself a few times. I may be the only person left this one actually applies to, sort of."

"Why?" Eve folded her arms. "What does it mean?"

Jenkins raised a hand to his waistcoat and removed a pocket watch on a long gold chain. "My, my. Is that the time. Well, we don't want to be overly late."

He held the door open and Cassandra dutifully exited. Eve watched him through narrowed eyes again, then relented and made her way out. This time, a carriage truly was waiting, preceded by two beribboned horses. Eve felt like a real princess as the carriage driver stepped down, opened the door, folded down the steps and held out a hand to help her up. She climbed into the vehicle, seating herself next to Cassandra, whom Jenkins had helped up at the other door, and opposite Jenkins. They drove to the church in bright sunshine tempered by a cool breeze. Jones was waiting at the door, ushering friends and family inside. He smiled brightly at Eve and Cassandra as they ascended the steps. Eve gave him a questioning glance and he patted his waistcoat pocket. What safer ring-bearer could they have than the world's greatest thief? He disappeared inside and two other ushers held the doors open wide. Jenkins offered his arm to Eve with a smile, and Cassandra fell into step behind them.

When he heard the music begin, Flynn turned. Surrounded by the glimmer of spring sunlight, spilling through the open door and diffusing through the pale yellow chiffon draperies hanging from her arms and shoulders, Eve looked ethereally beautiful. She took his breath away. He watched, spellbound, as she made her way towards him. As she reached the altar, she turned and handed her bouquet to Cassandra. She turned back and took Flynn's hands, pausing to brush the single pink in his buttonhole.

"We've all got something from the Language of the Flowers, thanks to Stone," she murmured. "How come you're the same as always?"

"He's not the only one around here who knows obscure languages, you know," smiled Flynn. "Look it up some time. Pink, single. It's there, honest."

"Hmm," she smiled. She glanced behind him. Stone, as best man, stood nearby, with Jones hovering further back. The first wore a bright cereus flower, the second a sprig of yellow acacia blossoms.

The ceremony began, the priest intoning all the usual ritual blessings and notices. When the question was asked if anyone there present had any just cause and so on, a ripple of laughter moved around the room. Flynn looked over his shoulder to see what Eve was laughing at and Stone, one arm wrapped around Jones' neck and his hand clamped across the younger man's mouth, tried to look innocent.

The conventional vows were said, the rings exchanged, and then the priest raised his eyes from his book. "The couple have written additional vows which they will now say."

"Flynn," began Eve, her eyes never leaving his for a second. "From the moment I met you, I was captivated. I thought I already led a pretty exciting life, then this strange and wonderful man appeared from nowhere and showed me that I didn't know the half of it. I never did get to thank Judson for that. I didn't realise then, of course, that the greatest adventure I was starting out on, was the one that brought me here, to you. I was focussed on my work, on the people that worked for me, and on the items I was sent to retrieve. You changed that focus. You invaded my thoughts night and day. You showed me a greater world, and a better one. You gave me hope when I had none. You took my problems and made them your own. You shared my burdens, and let me share yours. I swear to you that I will go on sharing everything with you, the good and the bad, for the rest of my days. Whatever comes next, now and always, we face it together."

"Eve," Flynn smiled, returning her gaze. "You are a light in my darkness. When I was drowning in sorrow, you rescued me. When my heart was broken, you made it whole. When I am surrounded by trouble, of any kind, I know you will be there to lead me out of it, to safety and to home. You are my home now. You complete me. And I love you. I love you with the breath, smiles, tears of all my life! Everything I am, everything I have, I share with you, both the good, and the bad. Whatever comes next, now and always, we face it together."

Beaming, the priest raised his head again to intone the words everyone had been waiting for. "I now declare you man and wife. You may kiss the bride."

XXXX

Despite having to call in another catering crew at short notice, the hotel managed to put on a fine reception meal for the newlyweds. The speeches went as well as can be expected when three of the people giving them were genii and only one of them was used to dealing with normal people. The cake was cut, the photographs taken. Friends old and new were welcomed and conversed with. The band struck up Ella Fitzgerald's version of "Our Love is Here to Stay" and the dancing began. Eventually the floor divided, women on one side, men on the other. Eve turned and threw up the bouquet. Cassandra stood demurely with folded arms, quite well aware that Jacob would be holding Jones down on the other side of the hall to try and catch the garter. She had no intention of trying to catch the bouquet. When the arrangement reached the zenith of its arc, she felt a hand reach out from among the huddle behind her and push her sharply forward. She threw out her arms to steady herself and, when she regained her balance, was shocked to find them holding the bridal bouquet. She looked round at the sea of laughing faces and clapping hands. Amongst the strangers, the familiar face of Charlene jumped out at her, and she twisted her face into a suspicious glare. Charlene merely shrugged and feigned innocence.

As the crowd dispersed, Cassandra tracked her down. "I see you've got a zinnia for a buttonhole. What does that one stand for? Matchmaker?"

"Absent friends, actually," breezed a slightly tipsy Charlene. "I've gotten quite good at growing them since I retired. Its amazing how much you can miss someone sneaking up on you through a wall. You know, I don't believe I've ever match-made anyone before. Not successfully anyway. But hey: if the cap fits!"

"Hmm," Cassandra raised an eyebrow at this. "We're heading back to the library once Flynn and Eve have left for the airport. Care to drop by and say hello to her?"

"It's a her?" Charlene raised an eyebrow of her own. "When did that happen?"

"There were discussions," Cassandra waved a hand vaguely. "It just sort of... came up in conversation."

"That's what happens when you leave Librarians alone together. They discuss things," she wobbled slightly and sat down heavily on a nearby chair. "Judson and Flynn did it all the time. I remember, sometimes, walking in on one of their conversations and having to concentrate just to work out if they were still speaking English."

Gradually, the guests retired for the night. Eve and Flynn were among the last to go, still swaying together in the middle of the dance floor even as the band packed up.

"Well now, Mrs Carsen, looks like we ought to be heading upstairs," murmured Flynn. "The room's empty, nearly."

"I guess we ought to then, Mr Carsen," smiled Eve. "Just so you know: I fully expect to be carried over the threshold."

"The threshold is fine," grinned Flynn. "But you're walking up the stairs."

The next morning, Cassandra, Stone, Jenkins, Jones, Charlene and all the other guests that had made it down to breakfast waved the happy couple away in a taxi, bound for the airport and somewhere warm. The Librarians looked round at Jenkins and Charlene and the old man pointed out a large taxi idling by the kerb. "I took the liberty of ordering ours for the same time," he told the retired receptionist, indicating the pile of bags being loaded into the boot of the vehicle. "I hope you're ready."

"My bags are in my room," said Charlene. "I won't be a moment."

"Accurate as always," smiled Jenkins as she hurried off.

They arrived at the annex door in good time, and Jenkins proudly ushered Charlene into the building.

"I have been here before," she reminded him.

They made their way through the corridors and into the office and the Library proper. Jenkins suggested the new Librarians show Charlene their most recent finds, while he made some tea. Cassandra wondered if he was including da Vinci in that list of finds. Obediently, they guided her through the bookshelves to point out the new additions. Everything turned up in the order the Library chose, and nothing close to the order they had found them. The last items to be tracked down were the Stone of Destiny and the Runestone. Charlene examined them both proudly.

"I knew you'd do well," she beamed. "Judson would be so proud. And saving so much on transport too. Tell me, what does the writing on that one say?"

Stone turned to the Runestone and crouched to read it. He took a breath to speak and then faltered. Cassandra crouched by his side and Jones hurried over.

"That doesn't look like I remember it," said Jones, peering down at the carvings.

"What does it say?" Cassandra asked.

Stone took another breath and cleared his throat. "It says three new words," he told them. "Ragnarok is coming."

Charlene folded her arms and sighed. "I guess that's me out of retirement then."

~Finis~


	54. Afterword

Due to the length of this and the increased research and complexity, it has taken a full week to get this put together. It also makes the category sections very long, so I am this time breaking it up into the ten episodes, and putting the Easter Eggs, Links to Canon, Random Clues and Trivia under the subheading of each episode. I'm sure that'll make more sense when you see it. It should certainly make it easier to reread a chapter, should you wish, with all that info on hand and together.  
  
I'm not including character arcs in this one, as most of them are not entirely done yet and it would give away too much of the next series. The general arc of this series is from a feeling of isolation and disparity to one of unity and family. I am including the actors I envisaged playing some of the new characters, though, so I'll start there.  
  
 **Additional Cast, in order of appearance:**  
  
 **Professor Wilkins** : Danny Bruno (Leverage and Grimm fans, especially the latter, may recognise him. He plays Bud.)  
 **Leonardo da Vinci** : David McCallum (Ducky in NCIS, and of course, most famously, Illya Kuryakin in The Man from UNCLE.)  
 **Flora McLeod** : Annette Crosbie (Born Annette Ross McLeod Crosbie, and no, I didn't know that when I picked her!)  
 **Mhairi (pronounced Marry) McLeod** : Kate Dickie (GoT fans may know her better as the slightly cracked Lysa Arryn), although the character was slightly based on an ex-boss of mine.  
 **Seonaidh (pronounced Shona) McLeod** : Sophie Kennedy Clarke. Actually based on a young woman of my acquaintance, of exceptional intelligence and individuality, with absolutely no airs or bad attitude and not a single clue how pretty she actually is, who could easily be on the candidate list for Librarians were the Library real. No, not me. I'm old enough to be her mother!  
  
 **Snake Owner** \- Not telling!  
 **Grey Man** \- Tom Noonan  
 **Simmonds** \- Ben Mansfield

____________________

 **Episode 1: And the Quest for the Thief's Chalice:**  
Chapter 1:  
 **Easter Eggs:**  
  
(Obvious references to Hamlet, Beowulf and Lucrezia Borgia not included)  
  
Jenkins: "I point and laugh at archaeologists" - Doctor Who (10)  
  
Jenkins: "We simple witnesses..." - Reference to a character from the Kate Mosse books "Labyrinth" and "Sepulchre". They are worth reading. Some areas of the stories are very adult, though, so not for you youngsters, yet. Trust me, they'll make more sense with a bit of life experience behind you too.  
  
Jenkins: "But then I was on a quest for an entirely different chalice." - Yep, that would be the Holy Grail.  
  
 **Random Clues to Stuff:**  
Jenkins (about the chalice): "I strongly suggest avoiding alcohol, also: it is a poison after all." - Yep, he's talking from experience.  
  
Chapter 2:  
 **Easter Eggs:**  
Jenkins: "Go steal an archaeology team." - A nod to Leverage's episodic catchphrase "Let's go steal a ..."  
  
Jones' nom de guerre, "Mr Smith" - The Doctor's preferred pseudonym is generally "John Smith".  
  
General thievery of ideas from Time Team, and yes, I really did consider Tony Robinson for Professor Wilkins.  
  
Jenkins: "I remember stories, when I was young, of murderers being forced to carry their victims to the king, or queen, for judgement." - That would be a tale of Lancelot, who, during one of his wanderings, came across a woman whose husband was attempting to beat and kill her. He promised the woman his protection, fought with the husband, and was taking them both with him on his travels when he was distracted and the husband took the opportunity to chop off his wife's head. Lancelot was so enraged that he hung the wife's body over her husband's back, and her head from his neck, and sent him to King Arthur's court to beg mercy of Queen Guinevere.  
  
Jones: "It's a reflex" - I believe Parker, from Leverage, said something similar. Now there's a head-to-head I'd love to see!  
  
'This was his white whale' - reference to Moby Dick. Not one of my favourites, but good for pub quizzes. The first line is "Call me Ishmael", if you're ever asked!  
  
 **Random Clues to Stuff:**  
There were always going to be earthquakes in this series, but the coincidental occurrence of the major one in Nepal made me put this in in greater detail, actually sending the Librarians out there to help. There wasn't much else I could do but pray for them, and this is part of my way of doing that. The presence of earthquakes here and later in the series, however, were originally planned simply as one of the signs that foreshadow Ragnarok.  
  
Chapter 3:  
 **Easter Eggs:**  
Stone: "I'll probably wake up in a hundred years surrounded by thorn bushes!" - Reference to Sleeping Beauty.  
  
 **Links to Canon:**  
Cassandra: "Baird's the Princess, remember." - Reference to Baird's metamorphosis during their encounter with the Libris Fabula in "And the Fables of Doom".  
  
 **Random Clues to Stuff:**  
Stone makes a reference to the Sleeping Beauty fairy tale. This is a clue to what will happen to Cassandra later when her use of magic knocks her out and she is placed in an upper room in the 'Fairy Tower' at Dunvegan to recover. And yes, it is actually called that!  
  
When Stone tells Cassandra about his conversation with the man in Nepal, who calls him an idiot for not being married to Cassandra, it's also a forerunner of conversations to come.  
  
Chapter 4:  
 **Easter Eggs:**  
Jenkins (regarding the smell of apples): "It's quite distinct." - One of the many catchphrases in Leverage is Eliot's "It's a very distinctive..." whenever he identifies something nobody else could.  
  
Mary Mallon, who is mentioned while Jenkins is agonising over what to do about Jones' car and dive gear, is also known as Typhoid Mary. She was a famously asymptomatic carrier of the typhoid virus. She never even knew she had it. This was a real case, minus the magical interference, of course.  
  
 **Links to Canon:**  
Jones: "Don't do punchy." - I'm sure he's said it more than once, but my headache is currently preventing me remembering exactly when. I think it was en route from the henge to the helicopter in 'and the Crown of King Arthur', and maybe again in 'and the Heart of Darkness'.  
  
 **Random Clues to Stuff:**  
The loss of enough of Idunn's apples to make the potion that Ezekiel found with the chalice is in itself a link to Ragnarok, and the first main clue that that was where this was heading.  
  
Jenkins' comment that "certain deities do tend to view the Library as their own personal vault" is a clue to Eve's adventure to find the statue of Pakhet. We're not done with that yet either!  
  
Jenkins had been in Sweden around the same time as Beowulf. That's a story for another time.  
  
The 'magically invoked chemical burn' that Eve gets is a hint that not everything going on in Nepal in the story is solely because of the disaster there in real life.  
  
Chapter 5:  
 **Easter Eggs:**  
'Time is an illusion. Lunch time doubly so.' - Quote from Hitch-hiker's Guide to the Galaxy  
  
'Desert-island books' is a reference to the long-running BBC Radio 4 show 'Desert-Island Discs'. Famous people pick five musical pieces they would want to have with them were they to be stranded on a desert island. Personally, I'd rather have a TARDIS. For more on Jenkins choices, see the Trivia section.  
  
Jenkins: "Once upon a time, there was a king named Pelles..." - King Pelles was the father of Elaine, mother of Galahad (i.e. he was Jenkins' grandfather).  
  
Cassandra: "Keep telling yourself that, sweetie." - 'Sweetie' is another Doctor Who reference. Everyone picks up something from watching those DVDs with Jones, but Cassandra had already stolen River's pet name for the Doctor to use for Stone. I have considered the scene in which Stone works out where she got it from. I'm still not sure how he'd react!  
  
Jenkins (regarding the crystal sphere on his desk): "Present from a king." - Reference to Labyrinth, and the crystal sphere Jareth the Goblin King, holds at the start.  
  
Jenkins: "Once I met a beautiful lady in Naples." - That would be Lucrezia Borgia.  
  
Jenkins age is a reference to Malory's "Le Morte D'Arthur", and the dates he gives therein. From them you can work out Galahad's date of birth, more or less.  
  
 **Links to Canon:**  
The phrase 'Beware the hero' is a link to the Latin phrase Morgan tells Eve in 'and the Rule of Three'.  
  
The reference to 'mosquito tone' is a link to Cassandra's use of it in 'and the City of Light'.  
  
 **Episode Trivia:**  
Gamla Uppsala is home to three tumuli, the oldest in Sweden's history, and two of those have indeed been excavated. A barrow, or tumulus, was erected around the remains of a funeral pyre just as Jenkins describes in chapter 2.  
  
Jones' SCUBA dry suit woes, with the need for ankle weights, is based on my own experience of learning to dive in cold water. If you're short, you really do need a custom-made dry suit.  
  
The gems listed when Jones discovers the dragon's lair in chapter 3 ('Rubies, amber, citrine, emeralds, turquoise, sapphire and amethyst'), in their most common colours, make a rainbow.  
  
There is a running joke in my (polylingual) family that anything said in German, with the right attitude, sounds like swearing. Hence the comment about cursing being easy to recognise in any language, with the possible exception of German, when Jenkins swears in 'a language Ezekiel had never heard before'. The language is in fact Anglo-Saxon, which would have been Jenkins' first language, if I have my dates right.  
  
Maybe one day I'll tell the tale of the bullet Baird removed in the first aid room.  
  
Old viruses are just as scary as new ones. Viable microbes have been discovered under permafrost that are thousands of years old, and the famous 'curses' of the Egyptians were usually just caused by inhaling dormant fungal spores that had been walled in there five thousand or so years ago. In Ezekiel's case, his virus was less scary, as it was only passed on through direct contact with the Thief when she scratched his cheek and drew blood. It could have caused an epidemic, had Jenkins not spotted it so quickly and kept him isolated throughout, but not half as easily as had it been airborne.  
  
The example right at the start of chapter 5 of how time becomes blurred without windows or clocks is taken directly from my own university days as a postgraduate, when they give you your own office to ensconce yourself in. My first office had neither windows nor clocks and was sufficiently far from the lecture theatres that time really would just slip away from me.  
  
 **Jenkins' 'Desert-island books':**  
Aristophanes wrote, amongst other things, the comedy "Lysistrata". I own a copy of his three Theban plays in which the Spartans of "Lysistrata" have been given Scottish accents. It's hilarious! I would love to see it performed! Again, not one for the younglings though. Very definitely contains adult humour!  
  
Paul Davies wrote the non-fiction theoretical physics book "How to build a Time Machine". Yes, I do own a copy. No, I haven't read the whole thing, only parts. I just can't find the time...  
  
Jules Verne's books are famous among sci-fi fans, and their mention here is a link to the mention in The Heart of Magic that Verne was a Librarian, and the episode later in this series where Stone and Cassandra followed his riddles to find the original copy of his book 'Paris in the 21st century'.  
  
I have several books of collected poems, some of which got referenced last time around, some of which I'm in!  
  
Malory wrote the massive work known as "Le Morte D'Arthur", one of the key sources for Arthurian legends. Malory wrote it. Jenkins lived it.  
  
Homer wrote "The Odyssey" and "The Iliad", two versions of the tale of the siege of Troy and of the ten year journey of one of the Greek heroes of that siege, namely Odysseus/Ullyses, to find his way home, by a very circuitous route.

\----------------------------------

 **Episode 2: And the Quest for the Pharaoh's Cat:**  
Chapter 6:  
 **Easter Eggs:**  
Flynn: "The whole of time and space" - a reference to the TARDIS.  
  
Flynn and Eve's "I love you", "I know" exchange is a Star Wars reference. It's a thing Han and Leia do.  
  
The scene where they are standing on top of the cliff above Deir el Bahri is a reference to the Amelia Peabody series by Elizabeth Peters. (DEFINITELY worth reading, by all!) It is a favourite viewpoint of the titular character.  
  
 **Links to Canon:**  
Flynn: "Every day, we learn something new!" - One of Flynn's catchphrases, from the series and the films, is "There's always something new to learn."  
  
Flynn: "And I just love learning!" - Link to the first film where Flynn is defending his perennial studenthood to a young woman his mother has invited over.  
  
Baird: "Nope!" - Do I even need to explain?  
  
Baird: "that darn time machine" - in the films we learn that H.G. Wells' time machine is in the Library.  
  
Flynn: "Just since the last time we were here" - actually linking to the Heart of Magic episode 'The Book of Thoth', not the canon episode 'and the Loom of Fate'. I know 'The Book of Thoth' is chronologically the earlier of the two, but it is the one where Flynn was in Egypt with Baird, and Jones with them, rather than Baird being in Egypt with the LiT's and Flynn meeting them there.  
  
Chapter 7:  
 **Links to Canon:**  
The pith helmet is a link to the one Flynn wore at the start of the first film.  
  
 **Random Clues to Stuff:**  
Flynn mentions that it is cool for the time of year in Egypt. This is the beginning of a trend marking the start of the three year long winter that precedes Ragnarok.  
  
Chapter 8:  
 **Easter Eggs:**  
Eve's 'dream' is a reference to the Elizabeth Peters book "Seeing a Large Cat", it is not the first of the Amelia Peabody series, but it is the first one I read.  
  
Chapter 9:  
 **Easter Eggs:**  
Flynn's multidimensional satchel is a recurring reference to the Luggage from Terry Pratchett's Discworld series. I may have already mentioned this last series.  
  
 **Random Clues to Stuff:**  
Wilkins tells Ezekiel that the temperature is quite mild for that time of year, at the dig. Ezekiel feels it much colder. A hint that Wilkins is not to be trusted.  
  
 **Episode Trivia:**  
Howard Carter discovered the tomb of Tutankhamun (1922).

\----------------------------------

 **Episode 3: And the Quest for the Book**  
 **Chapter 10:**  
 **Easter Eggs:**  
The mention of the labyrinth at Chartres cathedral is another nod to the book "Labyrinth" by Kate Mosse.  
  
 **Links to Canon:**  
I may have made a little dig at how bad Stone's French accent was in City of Light, but I did also supply him with an excuse.  
  
Chapter 11:  
 **Easter Eggs:**  
Baird: "Oh, he needs me. He doesn't know it, but he needs me." - Lines from the beautiful Nina Simone song "He Needs Me".  
  
Baird: "Sad is good. Apparently it's happy for deep people." - Reference to Doctor Who episode Blink.  
  
Cassandra calls Stone "sweetie" again. Yeah, that's gonna keep happening.  
  
Chapter 12:  
 **Easter Eggs:**  
Try asking Siri. You get some interesting answers.  
  
The rain in Paris, and Cassandra's blue dress, is their own little Casablanca reference. It comes from Rick's memory of his last day in Paris and his line "The sky was grey, you wore blue."  
  
The description of "the pavement shining up at them like silvered glass" is a Les Mis reference, stealing the line from "On My Own" - "In the rain, the pavement shines like silver."  
  
 **Links to Canon:**  
I think the link to City of Light is rather obvious there.  
  
 **Random Clues to Stuff:**  
Of course Jenkins knew how many stops there were! He didn't know what the riddles were or where they were, though, only how many.  
  
Chapter 13:  
 **Easter Eggs:**  
Stone (regarding moss): "It's green and it grows north," - A line shamelessly stolen from Veritas: The Quest.  
  
The discussion about Cassandra being "very, very, _very_ drunk" is a reference to the story "Saffron" on here (if it ain't yet, it will be soon) and on fanfiction net. It links into this 'verse.  
  
"The occasional Greek myth" is a reference to Eros (cupid) who showed up in The Heart of Magic to give Stone a talking to.  
  
Chapter 14:  
 **Easter Eggs:**  
Ezekiel uses the term "hinkey", which was stolen from NCIS.  
  
 **Links to Canon:**  
Ezekiel's reference to a murderous ghost girl and a dollhouse are reference to their adventure "and the Heart of Darkness".  
  
 **Random Clues to Stuff:**  
Flynn's sense of foreboding is linked to Eve hiding something (the details of her visions of Pakhet) from him.  
  
The book the Library throws at Jones when he makes a remark about it not giving clear enough clues is a book on Norse mythology, containing the details on Ragnarok.  
  
 **Episode Trivia:**  
Amiens Cathedral does indeed hold a skull purporting to be the head of St. John the Baptist. As far as I could see there were no numbers in his eye sockets though!  
  
You can indeed hire bicycles in Amiens, and there are many things there worth visiting, including the cathedral and, of course the house of Jules Verne.  
  
The best Turkish restaurant I ever ate in was in Rheims (or Reims, but either spelling can be used), and the little pink wafers are a local delicacy. And there is also lots of fantastic architecture from all manner of time periods.  
  
 **The Riddles, Episode 3:**  
  
1: To Chartres Cathedral  
  
His:  
"Le temps est venu de chercher mon livre  
Qui ne pourrait jamais être lu."  
"Où, à quarante ans, je dis une prière pour toi,  
Et laissé là pour vous de lire."  
  
Translation:  
"The time is here to seek my book  
That never could be read."  
"Where, at forty years, I said a prayer for thee,  
And left it there for you to read."  
  
Hers:  
"Cherchez-moi d'abord en dessous du Siège de la Sagesse,  
Où clochers inégalées transcendent l'air."  
"Pour protéger l'avenir, la piste est longue  
Et créé seulement pour vous."  
  
Translation:  
"Seek me first below the Seat of Wisdom,  
Where unmatched spires transcend the air."  
"To protect the future, the trail is long  
And created just for you."  
  
Full:  
"Le temps est venu de chercher mon livre  
Qui ne pourrait jamais être lu.  
Pour protéger l'avenir, la piste est longue  
Et créé seulement pour vous.  
  
Cherchez-moi d'abord en dessous du Siège de la Sagesse,  
Où clochers inégalées transcendent l'air.  
Où, à quarante ans, je dis une prière pour toi,  
Et laissé là pour vous de lire."  
  
Translation:  
"The time is here to seek my book  
That never could be read.  
To protect the future, the trail is long  
And created just for you.  
  
Seek me first below the Seat of Wisdom,  
Where unmatched spires transcend the air.  
Where, at forty years, I said a prayer for thee,  
And left it there for you to read."  
  
2: To Amiens Cathedral  
"Sous le regard de celui qui a fait le droit chemin dans le désert, mes paroles vous mènera en avant."  
  
3: To Notre-Dame de Paris  
Right eye: 1160-1345  
Left eye: 128/387  
  
4: To Rheims (Reims) Cathedral  
"Où celui qui a volé le Vase sacré,  
Était, comme tous ceux qui le suivit, couronné.  
Mes mots, en vue et le son, sonne vrai,  
Autour du bord de la jupe de Charlotte."  
  
5: To the Eiffel Tower  
"Mi sciis lia naskigloko antau naskigis,  
Mi piediris la stratojn de urbo nekonata,  
perdita sed ankorau ne vidis.  
  
Kie amantoj renkonti kateni sian vivon  
Au riski sian felicon sur ununura demando  
Tie vi trovos mian finan vorton."  
  
6: To the House of Jules Verne  
"Une ville flottante contient la clé  
Où ils vont construire un sanctuaire pour moi  
Ci-dessous ses mâts le livre sera  
En attente de climats plus chauds de toi  
Caché dans la vue pour tout voir  
Bibliothécaires: garder en sécurité pour moi"

\----------------------------------

 **Episode 4: And the Quest for the Lost Leonardo**  
Chapter 16:  
 **Easter Eggs:**  
Stone and his mug of coffee may be a tiny little nod to Leverage episode 1 and the flashback scene where we find out what Eliot does.  
  
 **Links to Canon:**  
The sarcasm exchange between Flynn and Ezekiel is a link to the same between Flynn and Eve, when Flynn was on the receiving end of the sarcasm in question.  
  
The Houdini mention is a link to the films.  
  
Chapter 17:  
 **Easter Eggs:**  
There was no way the Turtles were not going to get a mention in this episode somewhere.  
  
Eve (responding to Jenkins' query on how poorly women view their partners): "Only the sensible ones." - reference to Shakespeare's "As You Like It" and Ganymede's assertion "O, that woman that cannot make her fault her husband's occasion, let her never nurse her child herself or she will breed it like a fool!"  
  
 **Links to Canon:**  
Morgan le Fay mention obviously links back to "and the Rule of Three".  
  
Flynn's mention of having been at a few auctions himself is a link back to the start of the third film.  
  
The mentions of the Libris Fabula and Bremen link back to "and the Fables of Doom".  
  
Flynn mentions his photographic memory in "and the Crown of King Arthur" when they first find Cassandra.  
  
We all know where "We pay attention" links to!  
  
Chapter 18:  
 **Easter Eggs:**  
The decanters marked Yeksihw, Ydnarb and Mur are a nod to Terry Pratchett's Discworld series, in which the head of the Assassin's Guild has a similar set of decanters. Just don't accept a drink from the one labelled Nosiop!  
  
The panic room is, of course, an idea stolen from the film "Panic Room". Plus: there are so many priest holes and panic rooms in the stuff I read and watch, there was bound to be one in one of my stories eventually. There will undoubtedly be more!  
  
 **Links to Canon:**  
Not technically canon, but the case Flynn and Ezekiel discuss is the one that they are investigating at the start of the "Trouble Over Nothing" episode of "The Heart of Magic". It is the same episode where they last all went out for dinner, and Shakespeare's Quill intervened.  
  
The point of that conversation links back to the start of the series and Judson's worries over Flynn spending too much time alone.  
  
The last mystery house they worked on was the one in the canon series, in "and the Heart of Darkness".  
  
 **Random Clues to Stuff:**  
The room Stone discovers with the "long desk, easel and covered canvas" belonged to da Vinci. If he'd been a bit nosier, he'd have worked out exactly what, or who, the Library had sent them there to find.  
  
The original cover Jules Verne novels were a hint they were dealing with a person not an artefact.  
  
The da Vinci manuscripts in with the philosophers is another, rather blatant, hint about whom, or whose work, they were dealing with.  
  
Chapter 19:  
 **Easter Eggs:**  
Flynn: "another fine mess..." - Laurel and Hardy reference.  
  
Ezekiel: "There are only two hackers in the world better than me," - Those would be called Chaos and Alec Hardison... (Yes, that was a pun a little later.)  
  
Ezekiel: "Or there's some other genius computer geek..." - That would be Jack, from The Tribe. In my head, anyway. I've referred to him as such in my Tribe fanfics.  
  
Stone: "Hey, who turned out the lights?" - Big Doctor Who reference.  
  
Ezekiel: "Patience, grasshopper," - It's a phrase that is now so much a part of the pop-culture zeitgeist, even I had to look it up. Apparently it's originally from a 1970's show called "Kung Fu".  
  
Chapter 20:  
 **Easter Eggs:**  
Da Vinci (to Jenkins): "...my gentle, perfect friend?" - paraphrasing a line from Chaucer's "Knight's Tale" from "The Canterbury Tales": "He was a truly perfect, gentle knight". Galahad was also known as the most perfect knight that ever was or will be.  
  
 **Episode Trivia:**  
Answers to Stone's Questions to Ezekiel, Chapter 17  
The first artist to use the impressionist style was Claude Monet, along with his friends Renoir, Sisley and Bazille. The style takes its name from one of his paintings, "Impression, Sunrise".  
  
Egg white, or a part of it, known as glair, was used as a binding agent in paints for the detailed illuminations in mediaeval manuscripts. It was one of the most commonly used binding agents up until the 14th century, when it was gradually replaced with gum arabic.  
  
The hollow casting method, or lost wax method, for bronze casting goes back over five thousand years. I doubt even Stone knows who invented that one!  
  
Cubism might be the easy one, and the only one Ezekiel could answer, but it's also one that is argued over. It wasn't just invented by Pablo Picasso. It was indeed also invented by Georges Braque. Although Picasso's 1907 painting "Les Demoiselles d'Avignon" shows the beginnings of the cubist style, it was Braque's 1908 piece "Houses at L'Estaque" that first earned the description "cubism".

\----------------------------------

 **Episode 5: And the Quest for the Dress**  
Chapter 21:  
 **Easter Eggs:**  
Eve's comparison of Flynn to a drunken giraffe may have been another teensy Doctor Who reference.  
  
Eve's comparison of Stone to a guy with a "brain the size of a planet" was definitely a Hitch-hiker's Guide reference!  
  
Flynn (regarding asking Stone to be best man): "...and of course he acquiesced to my request." - Pirates of the Caribbean reference.  
  
 **Random Clues to Stuff:**  
Remember that pre-wedding spa day they girls staked during their betting? That would have taken place on April 1st. If you're wondering what happened, go read "April Fools".   
  
  
Chapter 22:  
 **Easter Eggs:**  
Jenkins (regarding the girls' giggling fits): "Maids are May when they are maids," - quote from "As You Like It" by William Shakespeare.  
  
The inflating eyes comment is another one knicked from Doctor Who.  
  
Chapter 23:  
 **Links to Canon:**  
Eve: "my Italian is much better." - Link to "and the Apple of Discord" where she explains Stone's outburst to the Italian police and museum guards.  
  
Chapter 24:  
 **Random Clues to Stuff:**  
This is where it becomes clear that Trudi is a giant from Jotunheim. Jotunheim is one of the nine worlds of Norse mythology. Also, the girls did not get drawn there by the Library. A hint that there was a recurring Norse theme going on throughout this series, and that it had a bigger part to play than normal cases.  
  
Chapter 25:  
 **Easter Eggs:**  
The name of the dwarf, Snorri, is a nod to the Snorri Sturluson who wrote the "Prose Edda" of Norse mythology in the 13th century. Despite the temptation to pronounce his name akin to those of Grumpy, Sleepy, Sneezy, et al., he was not actually a dwarf. He certainly seems to have lived an interesting life though!  
  
The promise of Snorri to "bring the stars and moon down from the sky" is a reference to the Meatloaf song "I'd Lie For You (And That's The Truth)" and the line "And if you want the moon I swear I'll bring it down for you".  
  
Rerir, the dragon whom Snorri raised from an egg, is a nod to Hagrid's pet dragon Norbert in Harry Potter.  
  
The mention of items forged in dragon fire is a nod to Game of Thrones.  
  
 **Random Clues to Stuff:**  
When Trudi talks about the giant her brother wants her to marry, she says "he will be among the first to lead the rise". The "rise" she is talking about is Ragnarok.  
  
The story Snorri tells of the human smith with elf blood who married a Valkyr is the tale of Völund and Hervor, whom we meet later.  
  
  
**The entirety of episodes 4 and 5 are an homage to the two Leverage episodes "The Girls' Night Out Job" and "The Boys' Night Out Job".  
  
 **Episode Trivia:**  
All the wedding dresses the girls look at in Bloomingdale's are from the Bloomingdale's website.  
  
 **The Library's Bets:**  
"Mr Stone will attempt to punch somebody" - while not overtly written in to the story line, Stone tried to punch one of his captors.  
  
"The Librarians will meet a familiar face" - they met Leonardo da Vinci.  
  
Other bets not mentioned in the story:  
"Mr Houdini's books will be of use." - Flynn and Jones were practised enough in Houdini's techniques to free themselves. Stone hadn't quite got the hang of it yet.  
  
"Curiosity will cause trouble." - It was Flynn's curiosity that opened the door to the panic room, but it was the curiosity of both Flynn and Jones that got them stuck in it. They didn't both have to go in.  
  
"Mr Jones will refer to himself at least once as 'awesome'." - He did.  
  
Bets all three agreed on:  
"Mr Jones will attempt to steal something." - Following their return to the Library, Colonel Baird subsequently found three snuffboxes, two antique letter openers, seven rings, a silver bracelet, and a gold, diamond and sapphire brooch on the person of Mr Jones.  
  
"Mr Jones and Mr Stone will argue." - Well, of course they will!  
  
"Mr Carsen will fall over." - He may have tripped up the stairs while he and Ezekiel were being captured.

\----------------------------------

 **Episode 6: And the Quest for the Ghost**  
Chapter 26:  
 **Easter Eggs:**  
I picked Culzean because I love it, not because of the Most Haunted episode. I only found out about that whilst researching the ghosts. It's worth watching on You Tube though, if you're not easily freaked out!  
  
"Ghosties, ghoulies and things that go bump in the night" is a traditional Scottish way of describing ghost stories. I anglified it a bit to fit with the rest of the sentence though.  
  
Stone (in response to Flynn poo-pooing his threat to let Ezekiel help plan the bachelor party): "Bet?" - A line shamelessly stolen from Commander Sam Vimes, Ankh Morpork City Watch, Discworld. I now have an image in my head of a certain Mr Kane playing Commander Vimes. The uniform doesn't suit him.  
  
The newspaper headline "There's Been A Murder" is a reference to Taggart. For those who don't know it, it's a Scottish police-based murder mystery series set in Glasgow famous for the lead character saying that line repeatedly throughout his tenure there, and for usually having half a dozen grisly corpses by the end of the first half! For Taggart himself, think of a shorter, much more Scottish version of Gibbs from NCIS, but less cheerful and much more sarcastic.  
  
Jenkins' dig "which aisle of shelves shall I send him to" is taken from the old joke sign sometimes hung on the back of the newlyweds' car as they leave for honeymoon, along with the tins et cetera. It reads "Aisle Altar Hymn".  
  
I feel no need to explain the Titanic reference. I get a sinking feeling just thinking about it.  
  
 **Random Clues to Stuff:**  
Jenkins (regarding Casanova and promises): "Money was another matter entirely." - At some point in his history, money was exchanged between Jenkins and Casanova. How exactly is another story entirely. One that may yet be told.  
  
The two Tennyson books are being borrowed by Jacob and Cassandra. Just in case that wasn't painfully obvious.  
  
Chapter 27:  
 **Links to Canon:**  
The narrative from Flynn's point of view at the start refers to the trio as "his little LiT's", linking back to "and the Sword in the Stone"  
  
Ezekiel's comment about Cassandra having "form for killing a ghost" links back to "and the Heart of Darkness".  
  
Obvious links to "and the Crown of King Arthur" aside, I have a personal head canon that the painting Jones was stealing in the intro of "and the Rule of Three" was that one.  
  
Chapter 28:  
 **Easter Eggs:**  
Cassandra: "We were dealing with a demon in Des Moines" - reference to Good Omens, by Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett.  
  
Lots of Doctor Who references with the fake names here.  
  
The "Vault" is a slight reference to Warehouse 13 and its Escher Vault. It's the same vault here that Ezekiel starts working on after visiting the one in the Serpent Brotherhood's warehouse (another nod to Warehouse 13).  
  
 **Links to Canon:**  
Emily Davenport, for anyone who hasn't seen it, was in the second Librarian film. She was Flynn's love interest and has three more degrees than he does.  
  
Eve: "Start with fiancée!" - link to their very first encounter in "and the Crown of King Arthur" and the line "Start with don't!"  
  
 **Random Clues to Stuff:**  
The earthquakes Cassandra mentions, in China and New Zealand, are forerunners of Ragnarok.  
  
There are at least two more thieves among the history of past Librarians, according to da Vinci.  
  
Chapter 29:  
 **Easter Eggs:**  
There are too many artists mentioned directly here to bother listing them!  
  
 **Links to Canon:**  
Those ghost goggles Ezekiel is wearing are the ones from "and the City of Light".  
  
Chapter 30:  
 **Links to Canon:**  
Mention of the Labyrinth from "and the Horns of a Dilemma".  
  
Mention of Cassandra's photographic memory, linking back to when they first found her in "and the Crown of King Arthur".  
  
Chapter 31:  
 **Easter Eggs:**  
When Ezekiel calls Cassandra "Melinda", he is referring to Melinda Gordon, the title character of the series "Ghost Whisperer".  
  
When Baird calls her "Egon", she is referring to Egon Spengler, one of the Ghostbusters. The geekiest one. When she calls Ezekiel "Venkman" she's referring to another member of the Ghostbusters team, Peter Venkman - the charmer.  
  
Stone's "girl in the fireplace" comment is yet another Doctor Who reference.  
  
 **Random Clues to Stuff:**  
We get the first real sign of other players on the hunt for something.  
  
 **Episode Trivia:**  
All the great writers Flynn names in Chapter 26 come from my own bookshelf or Kindle.  
  
There are tons of Scottish place names that are constantly being mispronounced by unsuspecting weather people and news readers. Some examples include Culross ( _Koo_ -rus), Milngavie (Mul- _guy_ ), Kirkudbright (Kir- _kood_ -bree) and Kirkcaldy (Kir- _kaw_ -dee).  
  
All the ghosts mentioned at Culzean Castle are taken from legitimate legends.  
  
There is such a thing as a boat carriage, and it lives at Culzean.  
  
There is a deliberate difference in the speech of Ezekiel and the speech of Cassandra when they are hiding in the tunnels in chapter 30. Ezekiel's lines lack the letter s or indeed any sibilants. Cassandra's do not, with the exception of her last line of the scene "I am talking quietly". The use of sibilants makes a distinctly louder noise, especially when one is whispering.

\----------------------------------

 **Episode 7: And the Quest for the Stone**  
Chapter 33:  
 **Easter Eggs:**  
The "pyramid in Antarctica" is a reference to the one found by the Veritas: The Quest crew in their second episode.  
  
The link between Ezekiel's Iceland jokes and his calling Eve "Mother" is a reference to the TV advert for the British supermarket chain "Iceland", which has for many years sported the catchphrase "That's why Mum's gone to Iceland".  
  
Ezekiel (regarding UK TV): "Plus they have much more realistic soap operas than the states." - a nod to John Kim's previous role in the Australian soap Neighbours, which I believe is still aired in the UK. I certainly grew up with it, but I remember when Sons and Daughters and The Sullivans was on TV!  
  
Ezekiel (Regarding Baird's opinion of soap operas): "I take exception to that statement!" - as above!  
  
The description of Flora as having "come straight from a moorland in a Scottish Play" is a reference to Shakespeare's witches in Macbeth, a.k.a "The Scottish Play".  
  
Auld creaky is a pun on Auld Reekie, the Scottish nickname for Edinburgh, our capital city.  
  
 **Random Clues to Stuff:**  
The volcano waking up in Iceland due to an "unknown trigger" is another link to the tremors caused by the Midgard Serpent awakening before Ragnarok.  
  
Okay, everyone knows by now that Flora and Jenkins have a history. You'll find out more about that next series. You may even find out where he got the name Jenkins. I am really gonna have to write out a timeline for that guy...  
  
Flora (to Eve regarding her plea for helpful knowledge): "I know many things of that ilk, lassie. Not that you'll be needing them for a while though." - Oh yes, that one's coming back to bite them!  
  
Chapter 34:  
 **Easter Eggs:**  
"Hold Fast" is the motto of Clan MacLeod.  
  
"A spider weaving its web of fate" is a reference to the traditional story that, after failing to beat the English half a dozen times, Bruce retired to a cave, to hide. He was on the verge of giving up the battle entirely when he saw a spider in the corner of the cave, attempting to swing itself across to its web to complete its work. Six times the spider swung across and missed. The seventh time, it succeeded. This inspired Bruce to continue fighting and on the next and seventh attempt, he won.  
  
Mhairi talking more when the three women begin talking about weddings is a little nod to the Scottish song "Mhairi's Wedding". " _Step we gaily, on we go. Heel for heel and toe for toe. Arm in arm and row on row. All for Mhairi's wedding._ " Yes, that's the reason, the only reason, she's called Mhairi.  
  
Jenkins (regarding Flynn's comment on confusing 'Stone' and 'the Stone'): "Worse if you include its original owner," - According to legend, the original owner of the Stone of Destiny was Jacob, from the bible, who used it as his pillow and saw the ladder of angels. Therefore we would have 'Jacob Stone' versus 'Jacob's Stone'. I probably find this more amusing than I should and I have no doubt Messieurs Rogers and Devlin have already thought of it.  
  
Chapter 36:  
 **Easter Eggs:**  
Jenkins: "A calling that brings a great responsibility, and with that great responsibility comes great power." - A nod to the Spiderman line "With great power comes great responsibility."  
  
The phrase "power of three" was stolen from Charmed.  
  
I trust the Superman and kryptonite references speak for themselves.  
  
 **Links to Canon:**  
Morgan le Fay and the app she created, from "and the Rule of Three" are mentioned again.  
  
Chapter 37:  
 **Easter Eggs:**  
Ezekiel: "...she knows every single episode of Doctor Who. All thirty four series." - reference to "Arrow", where Felicity says pretty much the same thing about Ray.  
  
Flynn: "But this is not the stone we were looking for." - A nod to Star Wars' "These are not the droids you are looking for."  
  
 **Random Clues to Stuff:**  
Eve (to Stone and Cassandra): "Please tell me you two don't have some weird bucket list of make-out spots." - They do. Of course they do. They will be visiting a few more of them next series too.  
  
Snake (it was a cobra) Owner baddie (identity yet to be revealed): "What am I saying: I would love to shoot you, Colonel. It would save so much trouble. What I would hate to have to do, really, is explain to my boss why and how you were shot. Especially when they particularly want to attend your wedding." - Well there's a massive clue to someone's identity right there! But did I mean Wilkins, or the evil queen? Muahahahahaaaaa.  
  
The tall, greying man is another unidentified baddie who will return.  
  
"Something in the voice was familiar, Eve thought." - A clue to the identity of the Snake Owner.  
  
"The Serpent Stirs" is referring to the waking of Jormungand, the Midgard Serpent. One of the first signs of Ragnarok.  
  
 **Episode Trivia:**  
There is a legend regarding Saint Columba banishing a water monster from Loch Ness. No, really. There is!  
  
There is currently scaffolding up around the great donjon tower of Bothwell Castle. Unfortunately, unlike Stone and Cassandra and the other visitors in the story, real visitors cannot enter the tower while the work is being carried out. It's a shame for anyone visiting just now, as the donjon is awesome in every sense of the word, but repairs were necessary to preserve it.

\----------------------------------

 **Episode 8: And the Quest for the Ring**  
Chapter 38:  
 **Easter Eggs:**  
The "we are not her boys" exchange between Ezekiel and Stone is taken from Doctor Who, when Rory and The Doctor say the same set of lines in response to a comment of Amy's. Yes, Jones did it deliberately, just to wind Stone up.  
  
 **Links to Canon:**  
If you hadn't spotted it already, "vexing" is becoming a favourite word between Flynn and Eve.  
  
The cases Flynn is talking about, in case you haven't read is, are episodes from "The Heart of Magic", not the canon series.  
  
 **Random Clues to Stuff:**  
Flynn: "We're off to Norway again." - He's referring to a case that has not yet been told in these stories. It might come up next series.  
  
Chapter 39:  
 **Easter Eggs:**  
"Edges were important. Things happen at edges." - Reference to a similar sentiment voiced by Granny Weatherwax, of Discworld fame, to trainee witch Tiffany Aching. Or possibly infamy, depending on who you ask...  
  
 **Random Clues to Stuff:**  
The Douglas motto, "Never Behind", is actually a clue that Cassandra and Ezekiel stumble across, but don't understand at the time. They do later. It's linked to the Runestone's oracular abilities.  
  
Chapter 40:  
 **Easter Eggs:**  
Ezekiel: "I asked, and I received." - Biblical reference to the quote "ask and ye shall receive".  
  
 **Random Clues to Stuff:**  
Jenkins retort to da Vinci is a hint of why they don't get on. More on that next series.  
  
The "other item" Cassandra asked Jenkins to talk to Flora about was the possibility of finding another magical sword for Flynn, as a wedding gift.  
  
Chapter 41:  
 **Easter Eggs:**  
Flynn: "The idea had not even begun to speculate [...] about the possibility of crossing my mind." - That line has been completely and shamelessly stolen from Rincewind in "The Colour of Magic" by Sir Terry Pratchett.  
  
Flora: "A sure sign that winter is coming." - Yes, that was a Stark shout out. Another Game of Thrones reference.  
  
 **Links to Canon:**  
"Right," [Flynn] breathed, "the other story." - link to "and the Apple of Discord" and Cassandra's line "Right: the other memory" when Stone helps her focus.  
  
Emily: "You don't seriously think I would leave something so precious lying around under the bed or something do you?" - Link to the first Librarian film where Flynn does just that, and the Serpent Brotherhood steal it.  
  
Chapter 43:  
 **Easter Eggs:**  
Stone (regarding Ezekiel's plans for the heist and his new-found honesty): "What'll we call it? The TARDIS job?" And "Yeah, a regular white knight!" - both are Leverage references.  
  
Cassandra's magical force field, along with the bleeding nose it causes, are nods to "The Fantastic Four" and the abilities of Jessica Alba's character, Susan Storm.  
  
Ezekiel (to Wilkins): "Name like that sounds more like a butler if you ask me." - Reference to Sybil and Sam Vimes' multitalented butler Willikins in Terry Pratchett's Discworld novels. If ever a 'league of fictional characters' character was going to turn up and help them, it would be him. Or possibly Holmes and Watson.  
  
Jenkins: "allons-y" - Doctor Who reference. Again.  
  
 **Links to Canon:**  
Ezekiel: "Enough with the judgy already" - link to the end of "and the Loom of Fate" where Ezekiel complains "It's still a bit judgy in here."  
  
Emily: "Standard climbing gear, just in case we need it." - She says something similar in "Return to King Solomon's Mines" (2nd Librarian film). Ditto the later comment "I had faith".  
  
Da Vinci: "What? It is _my_ diary!" - link to the fact that Flynn, in the third film, revealed that he had tracked down da Vinci's diary and it was in the Library. That the Serpent Brotherhood stole it was not in the canon of the series, but neither was that they didn't.  
  
 **Episode Trivia:**  
Malvina was the daughter of the poet Ossian. When her betrothed's messenger brought word to her that her beloved had been slain in the wars, and handed her a sprig of purple heather, her tears turned it white. Her tears thereafter turned every patch of purple heather they fell on white, and she is reputed to have wished that it bring luck to those who find it.  
  
Regarding Flynn's hypothesis on the creation of the rune stone palimpsest in chapter 38: I can do that sentence in one breath, but it does take practise!  
  
 **Jenkins versus Da Vinci: The Insults Translated** (and isn't Italian a wonderful language for arguing in!)  
  
Da Vinci: "Polemico vecchio crociato!" - Argumentative old crusader.  
  
Jenkins: "Cavaliere, non crociato, pittore!" - Knight, not crusader, Painter.  
  
Da Vinci: "Arrogante vecchio pazzo!" - Arrogant old fool.  
  
Da Vinci: "Parla per te," - Speak for yourself.  
  
Da Vinci: "Pazzo ignorante!" - Ignorant fool.  
  
Jenkins: "Ah, cease thy piagnisteo, oræfta!" - "Ah, quit your whining, artist!" (cease thy = stop/quit your (Archaic/Shakespearean English); piagnisteo = whining (Italian); oræfta = artist (Anglo-Saxon/Old English).) I just had to see how many languages or language forms I could get him through in one sentence, hence the French "allons-y" at the end of the next line.

\----------------------------------

 **Episode 9: And the Quest for the Sword**  
Chapter 44:  
 **Easter Eggs:**  
Ezekiel's case regarding the temple of Vesta (and the really bad joke) - Vesta was the character Lindy Booth played in Supernatural. Vesta is actually the goddess of the hearth, and is called Hestia by the Greeks. She only had one temple because technically every fireplace was a shrine to her. I have no idea if I'm right, but I'm guessing this is why Swan chose to call their matches after her. It's always been how I've remembered which one she is.  
  
I got the idea for Cassandra's magical recharge method from Magic Carpet 2, which is a favourite old computer game of mine that no longer plays on modern PCs (and I do miss it, but I will never miss being bombarded by those giant spiders in level three). In it, the character collects "mana" which is magical power, and spells. As you use the spells, your mana level drops, but the more you use the spell(s), the higher your maximum mana level gets. Once you've used all your mana, you must either wait while it slowly recharges or collect more.  
  
 **Links to Canon:**  
Stone (to Baird): "I ain't a soldier," - Link to the end of "and the Horns of a Dilemma", where Baird acknowledges they are not soldiers.  
  
Eve: "Still not calling him Santa." - Unsurprisingly, that would link to the repeated utterance of this line in "and Santa's Midnight Run".  
  
 **Random Clues to Stuff:**  
Jenkins (to Baird): "Take werewolves, for instance, or wendigos." - A hint of what Baird will be facing in the finale.  
  
Jenkins' description of Ragnarok is important. Very important.  
  
Chapter 45:  
 **Links to Canon:**  
Flynn's response to Stone's ranting ("Stone, you're scaring the books, calm down") is a link to the scene in the third film where Flynn has a hissy fit and Judson tells him he's scaring the artefacts.  
  
Baird: "We do not profit from the artefacts, Jones." - Charlene said the same to Flynn when he paid off an auctioneer by using the Philosopher's Stone to turn a throw cushion into solid gold in the third film.  
  
 **Random Clues to Stuff:**  
Baird (to Jones): "You took your time." - A hint that he was somewhere else, that she doesn't know about, as well as on the case.  
  
Chapter 46:  
 **Easter Eggs:**  
The quote Jenkins recites, from the tales of Tuan mac Cairill, is taken from "The Little Book of Celtic Myths and Legends" (see reference list). It was chosen because, as da Vinci points out, the quote could just as easily be applied to Jenkins himself.  
  
The comment about the sword sticking itself in a stone is a link to how the young Galahad got his sword.  
  
Simmonds (to the evil queen): "By you command, my queen." - Battlestar Galactica reference.  
  
Stone waking Cassandra with a kiss is a Sleeping Beauty reference, as is him calling her princess. The fairy-tale force is strong with these two...  
  
 **Links to Canon:**  
The "if you want to hide something, hide it in plain sight" sentiment comes from Judson in the first film.  
  
Chapter 46 - 50:  
 **Random Clues to Stuff:**  
Most of the clues given from here on in pertain to the final reveal in this series and the reasons for it in the next, or simply to other stuff that will be coming up in series three. For these reasons, I'm not going to explain them here. They should become clear next series, if they haven't already. As I heard someone say about another writer I like: Just assume everything's important!  
  
Chapter 47:  
 **Easter Eggs:**  
Jones: "So this thing can sense a disturbance in the force?" - Star Wars reference.  
  
"The Bride" and the mention of Uma Thurman are references to the film "Kill Bill".  
  
Chapter 48:  
 **Easter Eggs:**  
Da Vinci mentions Countess Lovelace. He is talking about Ada Lovelace, who was a mathematician widely recognised as the first computer programmer. She worked with Charles Babbage on his Analytical Engine. She was also Lord Byron's only legitimate daughter.  
  
Eve refers to Ezekiel's "spidey senses" - Spiderman reference.  
  
Ezekiel: "Miss me?" - Sherlock reference.  
  
 **Links to Canon:**  
Flynn, Jenkins and Baird: "...and it would provide an opportunity..." "To steal new things." - Link to Ezekiel's reasons for agreeing to stay on as a LiT at the end of "and the Sword in the Stone".  
  
Flynn: "Fear and excitement. A popular pair." - Link to Flynn's pairing up of words in the intro to "and the Crown of King Arthur".  
  
 **Episode Trivia:**  
Scottish accents vary, and mine varies in itself more than most. I usually start off fairly anglified and polite, then get increasingly broader Scots as I get to know someone. I decided that Seonaidh would let more of her lilt show as she go to know Ezekiel better and used my Scottish folk tales story telling voice, which has a more Hebridean/Highland lilt to it, to read in the character and then convert the dialogue. The differences in the pronunciation of 'you' and 'your' depending on placement are common and link to emphasis and speed of speech.  
  
The Singing Sword of Conaire Mor is blooming difficult to find information on!  
  
Ascalon is the spear of St George. Gram is the sword of Sigurd. Both were used to slay dragons.

\----------------------------------

 **Episode 10: And the Quest for the Perfect Day**  
 **Chapter 49:**  
 **Easter Eggs:**  
Regarding Jenkins treatment of da Vinci: I believe, for some reason, he sees him somewhat similarly to the way Ten sees Captain Jack Harkness. We'll deal with why later.  
  
Chapter 50:  
 **Links to Canon:**  
Flynn (regarding loud noises scaring things): "Although hippos..." - link to the second film, where he and his travelling companions find their boat beset by hippos and Flynn decides to try scaring them off with loud noises. Spoiler alert: it doesn't work.  
  
Chapter 51:  
 **Easter Eggs:**  
Stone: "I know how to use a sword. Pointy end goes into other man, or monster as the case may be." - Mask of Zorro reference, when Antonio Banderas' character says the same thing, minus the monster bit, to Anthony Hopkins.  
  
 **Links to Canon:**  
Cassandra's reference to playing Merlin is a reference to "and the Fables of Doom" where the Libris Fabula and its reader turned her into Merlin and she used a fire-like glow to get rid of the wolves. I'm talking the "if it looks like a duck and it quacks like a duck" route with that and assuming she could magic up fire.  
  
Chapter 52:  
 **Easter Eggs:**  
Stone (in response to Cassandra's "I love you"): "Ditto." - A reference to the Patrick Swayze film "Ghost". (Well, I couldn't make them both Star Wars!) And I now have that darn potters wheel scene in my head again! Dammit, I'd just got rid of that!  
  
Ezekiel: "If you two are done playing Tommy and Tuppence..." - Reference to Tommy and Tuppence Beresford, also known as Agatha Christie's "Partners in Crime", a married couple who masqueraded as a private detective and his secretary. Believe me: the lesser known Agatha Christie heroes and heroines are worth reading. They did actually make a series of this though, and I still have a soft spot for James Warwick as Tommy Beresford. And Francesca Annis, as Tuppence, was awesome.  
  
Chapter 53:  
 **Easter Eggs:**  
Flynn: "I love you with the breath, smiles and tears of all my life." - A line from the Elizabeth Barrett Browning poem "How do I love thee? Let me count the ways."  
  
 **Links to Canon:**  
The fountain of youth turned up in the third film, with Judson walking through as a boy and transforming back to his usual self. Apparently he was "just testing it".  
  
 **Episode Trivia:**  
Beaduleóma means 'a war-gleam sword' in Anglo-Saxon/Old English. Interestingly, if you shift the accent to the e it means something else.  
  
 **Flowers and their meanings, Chapter 53**  
  
Jones: Acacia "Golden Wattle" - floral emblem of Australia. Yellow acacia, which Golden Wattle is, means secret love.  
  
Stone: Cereus - Modest genius.  
  
Jenkins: Monkshood - Knight-errantry  
  
Flynn: Single Pink - Pure Love.  
  
Cassandra's Bouquet: Cornflower - Delicacy; Bridal Rose - Happy Love; Celandine - Joys to come.  
  
Eve's Bouquet: Bridal Rose - Happy Love; Ivy - Marriage; Gorse - Love for all seasons.  
  
Charlene: Zinnia - Thoughts of Absent Friends

\----------------------------------

 **Character Deaths:**  
Technically, the man Stone spoke to in Nepal, but he was predominantly written in as a focus point for all those lost in that tragedy in the real world, so that we might stop for a moment and think of them.  
  
The 'Thief', whom Jones encounters in the dragon's lair.  
  
Five kitchen staff, three gardeners and one head chef.

\----------------------------------

 **References:**  
(Only includes paperback or hardback books I own, not e-books, audio books or any of the websites I used.)  
  
Adams, D, 1979; _The Hitch Hiker's Guide to the Galaxy_. Pan.  
  
Barber, R., 2007; _Legends of the Grail_. London Folio Society.  
  
Borloton, L., 1965; _The Life and Times of Leonardo_. 1967 Translation. 2nd Edition. The Hamlyn Publishing Group. Feltham.  
  
Bulfinch, T., 1993; _The Golden Age of Myth & Legend_. Wordsworth Editions Limited.  
  
Clark, K., 1939; _Leonardo da Vinci_. 5th edition. The Folio Society. London.  
  
Coghill, N., (Translator), 1951; _Chaucer: The Canterbury Tales_. 18th edition. Penguin Classics. London.  
  
Davies, P., 2001; _How to Build a Time Machine_. Allen Lane. The Penguin Press. London.  
  
Dent, J. M., and BBC, 1985; _Poetry Please_. Illustrated edition, 1999. Phoenix.  
  
Fagles, R., (Translator), 1982; _Sophocles: The Three Theban Plays: Antigone, Oedipus the King, Oedipus at Colonus_. 8th edition. Penguin Classics. London.  
  
Fagles, R., and Knox, B., (Translators), 1990: _Homer: The Illiad_. 1997 edition. The Softback Preview. The Bath Press. Bath.  
  
Fagles, R., and Knox, B., (Translators), 1996: _Homer: The Odyssey_. 1997 edition. The Softback Preview. The Bath Press. Bath.  
  
Geoghegan, S., 2003; _The Language of Flowers_. Past Times.  
  
Hanks, P., Makins, M., Widdowson, J., Adams, D., Grandison, A., McGrath, D., Shearer, T., and Knight, L., 1988; _Collins Pocket Reference Thesaurus in A-Z Form_. 4th edition. Harper Collins Manufacturing. Glasgow.  
  
Jacobs, J., 1994; _Celtic Fairy Tales_. Senate. Studio Editions Ltd. London.  
  
Kaman, D., (Editor), 2007: _The Nature of Time: An Anthology of Poetry_. Dogma Publications. Bicester.  
  
Kirkpatrick, B., (Editor), 1987; _Roget's Thesaurus of English Words and Phrases_. Penguin Books. Middlesex.  
  
Lane, M., (Editor), 2005; _Summer's Echo: An Anthology of Poetry_. Dogma Publications. Bicester.  
  
Mackay, J. A., (Editor), 1993; _Robert Burns: The Complete Poetical Works_. 3rd edition. Alloway Publishing. Stenlake Publishing Ltd.. Catrine.  
  
Malory, T., 1485; _Le Morte D'Arthur_. 1985 Edition. Omega Books Ltd.. Ware.  
  
Manning-Sanders, R., 1976; _Scottish Folk Tales_. Mammoth.  
  
Millgate, M., 1963; _Tennyson: Selected Poems_. Oxford University Press.  
  
Murray, A. S., 2004; _Who's Who in Myth & Legend_. CRW Publishing Limited.  
  
National Trust for Scotland, 2013; _Culzean Castle and Country Park_.   
  
Peters. E., 1997; _Seeing a Large Cat_. UK edition (2003). Robinson. Constable and Robinson. London.  
  
Picard, B. L., 1953; _Tales of the Norse Gods and Heroes_. Oxford University Press.  
  
Picard, B. L., 1955; _Stories of King Arthur and his Knights_. Oxford University Press.  
  
Ratcliffe, S., (Editor), 2000; _Oxford Dictionary of Thematic Quotations_. Oxford University Press. Oxford.  
  
Read, A., (Editor), 2007; _Shattered Illusions: An Anthology of Poetry_. Dogma Publications. Bicester.  
  
Roberts, J., (Editor), 2005; _The Oxford Dictionary of the Classical World_. Oxford University Press.  
  
Rolleston, T. W., 1994; _Celtic Myths and Legends_. 2nd edition. Senate. Studio Editions Ltd. London.  
  
Shakespeare, W., 1623; _As You Like It_. The Warwick Shakespeare Edition. Blackie  & Son Limited.  
  
Sommerstein, A. H., (Translator) 1973; _Aristophanes: Lysistrata and Other Plays_. 16th edition. Penguin Classics. London.  
  
Squire, C., 2001; _Celtic Myths and Legends_. Lomond Books. Parragon. Bath.  
  
Steinbeck, J., 1979; _The Acts of King Arthur and his Noble Knights: From the Winchester Manuscripts of Thomas Malory and Other Sources_. Book Club Associates.  
  
Stirling, J., (Editor), 1960; _The Bible_. The British and Foreign Bible Society. Oxford University Press. Oxford.  
  
Swanton, M., (Translator), 1993; _Anglo-Saxon Prose_. 2nd edition. Everyman. J. M. Dent. Orion Publishing Group. London.  
  
Tabraham, C., 1994; _Bothwell Castle: The Official Souvenir Guide_. 2009 edition. Historic Scotland.  
  
Taylor, K., and Taylor, J., 1999; _The Little Book of Celtic Myths and Legends_. Siena. Parragon. Bath.  
  
Tredennick, H., (Translator), 1954; _Plato: The Last Days of Socrates_. 36th edition. Penguin Classics. London.  
  
Trevelyan, M., 1895; _Arthurian Legends: The Land of Arthur: Its Heroes and Heroines_. Siena. Parragon. Bath.  
  
De Valera, S., 1973; _Irish Fairy Tales_. 10th edition. Piccolo Original. Pan Books Ltd., London.  
  
Verne, J., 1864; _Journey to the Centre of the Earth_. Edition unknown. Blackie and Son. Glasgow.  
  
Verne, J., 1873; _Around the World in Eighty Days_. 1994 edition. Penguin Popular Classics.  
  
Waterfield, R., and Waterfield, K., 2011; _The Greek Myths: Stories of the Greek Gods and Heroes Vividly Retold_. Quercus.

\----------------------------------

 **Cameo:**  
Remember those random cathedral enthusiasts in chapter 10? That would be me and my Dad, with my Mum sitting waiting on us.  
  
For anyone still puzzling over my little cameo in Heart of Magic (not that I think there will be many), it was my eight-year-old self that so irritated Jenkins by calling him Merlin, and then ran away and got myself and Cassandra stuck in the embroidered screen.

 

The Librarians will return in...  
  
 **Ragnarok**


End file.
